Colby

"I would never expect this from you, Dodge," I declare. Wyatt smirks from the driver's seat, his eyes still on the road before us.

"It's catchy, okay?" He looks my way briefly to catch my reaction. His music has been on shuffle the entire drive back to Tyler, a deal we made after I DJ'd through my iPhone playlists on the ride to Dallas.

"Party in the U.S.A.?" I tease, and he takes my hand in his, squeezing it.

"It should impress you that I'm man enough to admit that I love it." He winks, bringing my hand to his lips.

I wish I could relive this weekend on an endless loop for the next month. Rolling back into town brings me back to the reality that is life in Tyler, but life here is changing as well.

"Should we take the newlyweds for a late dinner?" I ask as we pass a local mom and pop diner with burgers to die for.

The shock that my best friend is not only any longer single, but married and pregnant has most definitely not worn away. They've been married for a grand total of three days, and I can say with certainty that I've never seen Wynn or Cole so happy.

Wyatt places our hands on my knee, switching lanes to pull a U-turn back to the diner. "Make the call," he replies.

I grab my phone from the cup holders on the center console, pulling up Wynn's number.

The way everything has transpired has been one for the books, but I couldn't be more excited for all of our futures. Initially, I thought they were out of their minds getting married at eighteen, but now that it's happened it feels more right than any alternative I can think of.

As I'm retrieving Wynn's number, a call from Maryanne chimes through.

"Did your phone ever ring?" I ask Wyatt. "Your mom is calling me."

The corners of his mouth drop as he shakes his head in response. Curiosity colors his features, reflecting my own thoughts. "I always knew she liked you better," he jokes as I answer the call.

"Hi, Maryanne!" I say cheerfully, but the other end is silent. "Hello?" I try again, checking the screen of my phone to see if our call has dropped.

"Oh, hi sweetie," Maryanne replies, sniffling before continuing. "Are you and Wyatt back in town yet?" Her voice is soft as always, but there's a note to it that disturbs me.

Something's wrong.

Wyatt pulls into a spot at the diner, leaving the engine on. He watches me carefully, undoubtedly wondering what could've prompted her to reach out to me.

"We've just pulled into town and are about to grab a bit to eat," I tell her, dreading the answer to the question I'm about to ask. "Is everything alright?"

I already know the answer. I've heard her like this before...

"I... I need you to get home soon, okay?" she asserts, and the heaviness of her tone confirms my greatest fears. All sense of feeling or emotion drains from me in an instant.

Mama.

"We'll be right there," I say, with Wyatt peeling out of the parking lot before I hang up the phone.

...

When we reach the house, there's a car parked outside that I don't recognize. The front door opens, revealing one of the hospice workers that's checked in on Mama regularly since we brought her back home.

Alex follows close behind her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans. The moment Wyatt stops the car I jump out of it. I jog to reach my brother and the woman, whose name escapes me, desperate to know what has happened.

"There's nothing more I can do at this point," she says solemnly, addressing both of us. "You will need to call once it happens, as we'll need to send a representative to document an official time and date." She rubs Alex's arm soothingly, her eyes full of sympathy and compassion. "I know this can't be easy for any of you. I've left behind a few pamphlets on additional services, such as grief counseling, and a few reputable funeral homes."

"Th-thank you," Alex stammers. He's barely holding it together, but I'm proud of him for stepping up for Mama. He glances over at me as Wyatt approaches me from behind, rubbing my shoulders.

"How much time do we have?" I ask. Alex's eyes are still on me, unable to meet the woman's pitying gaze.

"I wish I could give you a timeline, but it's hard to say," she says, shifting her weight uncomfortably. Her job must be horrible. "I've seen patients linger in this state ranging from one day to multiple weeks. What I can tell you is that it's not living. From what I've seen today I can't imagine it will be long."

We nod uniformly in acknowledgment of her assessment. As much as I hate the thought of losing Mama, she deserves better than this version of her life.

"I'm sorry for your circumstances," she says, slowly making her way down the steps of our porch.

Wyatt wraps his arms around me, and his presence alone brings me comfort. Alex watches as the hospice worker pulls out of the driveway, seating himself on the top step. He looks out over our family's property in complete silence until finally, he breaks.

He buries his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. I walk in his direction, sitting beside him. I put my arms around his strong shoulders, hugging him to me as he sobs.

It's a tragedy in itself, the way grief can turn people into an adaptation of themselves that they were never meant to become. I'm guilty of it, and I think Alex has finally realized that he is as well.

He never faced the truth of Mama's condition, or even the loss of Gramps and Marty, turning to various substances to numb his broken heart. We've run from our reality, but what good does that do any of us? We have to accept the bottom line of our circumstances. Nobody lives forever in the flesh, and the longer we deny our losses, the further we fall away from who we're intended to be.

Alex sobers from his anguish, straightening as he wipes the remaining wetness from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

"Let's go hang out with Mama," I suggest, tears pooling in my own eyes.

"Yeah," he agrees, pushing himself to his feet. He offers a hand to me, helping me up, and we walk into the house together.

Wyatt gently rubs my back as the three of us hike the stairs to Mama's room. My heart wasn't prepared for the image before me when we enter.

Mama is propped up slightly, resting on two pillows donning floral patterned linens that we've had since we were children. Luke is sitting in Gramps' old blue chair at her bedside, and Maryanne rises from her seat on the opposite side of the bed to greet us. She squeezes me to her, hugging me tightly.

Everyone's here, but Dad.

"I didn't want to alarm you when I called," she says softly as she holds me. "I knew you'd want time with her, and I don't know how much time we have left." The skin underneath Maryanne's eyes is swollen and red from crying, and I'm grateful that she and Mama were so close. The Matheson's may be employees, but Mama and Maryanne have always adored and respected one another. Maryanne releases me, stepping behind me to where Wyatt stands in the doorway.

"Why don't y'all spend some time alone with your mama. Wyatt and I will be in the living room if you need anything at all," she says.

Wyatt comes to me, pulling me close as he kisses me on the forehead. "How 'bout I go get us all somethin' to eat?" Wyatt suggests.

I lost my appetite the moment Maryanne called me, but if I know anything about the Matheson's, none of us will get away without being fed.

"Burger's from Dan's?" he asks, remembering my craving from earlier. I nod halfheartedly and Alex shrugs, clearly sharing my apathy on the matter.

"Can I come with you?" Luke asks quietly, already pushing himself from his chair.

"I was plannin' on it," Wyatt replies. "We'll be back with the grub soon." He bends down to kiss me on the cheek before he, Maryanne, and Luke leave the room.

Alex and I take the chairs on either side of Mama, and I realize the turn she's taken in the past three days I've been gone leaves her almost unrecognizable. With each intake of breath, the air rattles in her throat like before, only now every breath is short, with long gaps in between. Her coloring has taken on an ashen pallor—almost gray, and her skin is loose and as thin as tissue paper.

The way she's resting reminds me of how I'd often find her before her illness. My brothers and I always teased her when she would fall asleep while we were watching TV together at night, because she never failed to doze off with her mouth slightly open. She looks the same now, only weaker. Fragile. Her eyes are closed, but there's no way of telling whether she's sleeping, or relaxing in the other realm she's been visiting since she became ill.

"Janice left some sponge things behind that we can use to rewet Mama's mouth," Alex says suddenly. "They're behind you on the dresser. We've been dipping them in that cup of water," he adds, pointing behind my shoulder. He pulls his chapstick from his pocket, leaning across Mama and gliding it across her dry lips.

I retrieve one of the packets from the dresser, removing the plastic wrapper covering what looks like a sponge-tipped lollipop. I dip it into the water and sit back beside Mama, pressing it gently against her tongue and moistening her dehydrated pallet.

These are moments that you can't imagine until they happen. They dredge up memories long forgotten. I brush her hair from her face, remembering how she'd tend tirelessly to all of us when we were sick. Never had I thought the tides would turn as they have. The truth is, no level of preparation can ready a person for losing someone they hold so dearly. When the time comes, ready or not, we have no choice, but to face it.

Alex and I sit wordlessly together with Mama, holding her hands and lost in our own thoughts. I pray that she's feeling nothing but peace. She told me once after we lost Gramps that she believes when we cross over from death that God sends someone to lead you into your eternity. I hope that's true, and I hope that Gramps is here with her right now, in her mind or heart, pep-talking her, and telling her how bright and perfect her new life will be.

When Wyatt and Luke return, we take turns checking on Mama as we eat our cheeseburgers. Nobody has anything much to say as we sit, eating our late night meal. I didn't realize until I took my first bite, how ravenous I was. Even so, I'm relieved when we finish, anxious to be back by Mama's side.

Wyatt and Maryanne remain downstairs, while my brothers and I return to Mama. Luke sits on the window side of her bed directly across from me, and Alex at her feet. Her breathing has changed, even since we went to eat. Each breath is several seconds from the one before.

It seems that the gaps in between grow longer each time, some of them reaching so far after that I start to lose hope it will come. The rattle in her throat is unceasing, continuing steadily despite the minimal air she sucks in.

Luke and I both have her soft hands in our own, and I gently massage it as we watch her. She still wears her ring, and a surge of anger fills me before I can stifle it.

My father should be here.

I quickly send him a text, with no expectation of a response. Why would he respond now?

I lean back in my chair, following Luke's exhausted example, and close my eyes. Still gripping her warm hand, I drift into a restless sleep.

...

I wake up, still groggy, to the image of my brothers sleeping around Mama as I had been. I hear her breathe in a quick, sharp breath, and close my eyes again. Then I wait...

I wait for a breath that never comes.

Alex lifts his head from the foot of the bed where he's been resting just as uselessly as I have. He watches her closely.

Waiting.

I squeeze her hand gently, as if cheering the next intake of air on. The tears waste no time when my eyes meet Alex's.

She's gone.

I weep silently, Alex crossing over to me, taking my other hand between his own two. There are no words to exchange. There's nothing to say to fix this or make us feel any better.

Her hand drains of heat as I hold it. The last time I will hold her.

...

I walk down the stairs, and they creak under my feet as I step over them cautiously. Wyatt is sprawled across our living room couch sleeping, and Maryanne rests in a recliner in the far corner. She hears the groan of the wooden staircase, moving to greet me in an instant at the base of the steps.

Her arms extend out to me, pulling me into her warmth. She grips me firmly against her as I sob into her shirt. Wyatt's there a moment later, enclosing Maryanne and me within the long span of his arms.

As lost as I am right now, there's mercy in this moment.

I will never be alone, and I never have been.