I need you now

I can’t stop staring at all the numbers on the screen next to your bed as I enclose my hands around your hand. The same hand that was hanging out of the wrecked car 3 days ago, cut up and bloody. The same hand that grips your mic on stage at your performances. I always imagined a ring eventually finding its way on this hand and have often wondered what kind of girl you would allow into your world. I like to think that I would get along with whoever you brought home but who knows. The numbers on the screen have various waveforms and beeps associated with them. Changing by a number or two as the waveforms scroll by. It’s maddening trying to figure it all out. I watch as the nurses come in, writes down some of those numbers, and then calls the doctor to report this one or that. She will then adjust the IV medications accordingly. I have no idea what is happening. All I know is that you are still alive because of it. They tell me they are optimistic with their new plan.  I don’t know enough to either worry or be relieved.  There are so many tubes and wires.  A pile of wadded up spaghetti in different sizes and colors. They all have their own functions, plugged in to its own machine, giving the doctors vital information to either stay the course or change plans. How do they really know? What if they make a mistake? 

My gaze and attention turn back to you. Your face is frightening to be honest. I didn’t think it could swell and change colors the way it is. My beautiful boy. Your soft red curls that were covered in blood have been washed and smoothed back out of the way. What will become of all this? Your father is beside himself with guilt, as he should be. He has wasted so many years. I do not pity him. He made his choice years ago.

I wish you would open your eyes. I miss our talks so much. You make me laugh like nobody else. I cherish the relationship we have. Had. No, have. This is not the end. You are coming back, and we will restore the path you were on. I will make sure of it. Hang on honey, the doctor is coming in.

“Good morning ma’am, how’s our patient doing?” He’s so cheery and carefree as he waltzes into the room driving his hands into the pockets of his white coat.  I internally roll my eyes. Why is he asking me? How would I know how he’s doing? He looks like a broken, swollen, bruised bag of bones. How about you tell me how he’s doing. 

“Oh he’s great! I’ve been reading to him like you said and I can just feel him coming back to us!” I paint a giant smile on my face as I spin myself around to face the doctor. I feel so awkward, like a big idiot because my brain frantically tries to catch the medical talk in midair like trying to catch fireflies on a dark summer night. I’ll bottle up the words and google them later.

“I spoke with your husband earlier over the phone and he agrees with our current plan of care as it’s the same practice he uses on his own patients.” 

“EX…” I interjected quickly.

“Oh yes, I apologize ma'am. I look forward to talking with you both tonight after he arrives. Do you need anything else from me at the moment?” Doctor "dolittle" says disingenuously as he’s already heading towards the door.

“Oh no, we are fine right here, nope, we’re good, thank you so much!” I blubber out. I really have no idea what this plan of care thing is that he’s talking about.  I hate that your father knows all of this and I don’t. I plan on googling everything at lunch so I don’t sound like a half wit when he arrives later.

Anxiety engulfs me every time your dad comes back to town. You and I have had this great set up. Mother and son. Nobody asking for custody time or threatening to take you away from me. He hasn’t  so much as called more than a handful of times a year since he left. Now that there’s a medical need, he feels important, I guess. We don’t need him. I can figure this out on my own. That’s all I’ve done over the years. Handled the bills, the debts, the hungry nights, the second hand clothes. I feel the weight of my loneliness bear down on me. My breath thickens and my throat tightens.  My eyes are fixed on my sons mangled face.

“I need you to come back to me now!” I say in my son's direction. 

I squeeze his hand and draw in a breath.

“You can't leave me too!” My voice cracks. Hot tears stream down my cheeks and I drop my face onto my son’s arm.  My mind passes through so many memories of our years together as I sit there sobbing away my anxieties.

Hours have passed and I haven’t googled a thing. The golden light from the windows cast a beautiful shadow over the room. It reminds me of closing time. The end of the day. Moving on to another frame of time. My face feels crumpled, and I look around for a clock. He’ll be here soon. I remember when I liked that fluttering feeling in my stomach when I knew I’d see him soon. Now it’s more like a nauseating wave waiting to heave vomit all over every good thing in sight. I sip the water that’s been sitting on the table since yesterday. It’s warm, but wet.

“Hey. How’s our boy?” My eyes snap open as I nearly choke on my last gulp. I see him peripherally as he slowly enters the room as if entering a stranger’s home. Uninvited. Unknowing if you’re welcome or not.  I bet that feels awkward. I wouldn’t know because I’ve known my son since he was in the womb. I didn’t take off like he did when something better came along. I absorbed him into my soul. I breathed him in daily. He was and will always be my whole world. How could anything else compare to the love you have for your child.  Now my whole world is hanging off the edge of a cliff with a thin tattered rope, being held up by a man I despise.

“He’s here” I say with an exhale. I didn’t realize I was holding my breath. My slumped back involuntarily straightens. I don’t know what else to muster up. I can’t even look at him. 

“The police told me he was on his way to an open mic night.  When did he start doing that?” I can’t tell if he really wants to know or if he feels obligated to get to know his son.

“He loves music and has been singing since he was a small child. Everybody knows that.” I spat out.

“Listen, I don’t need you to remind me of my absence. But I am interested in what he was doing.” That comes spilling out of his mouth so fast, it must have been rehearsed. I scoff but say nothing. We sit there in silence for another uncomfortable 10 minutes or so. Both of us stare at the son we share as if he was going to jump into the conversation any minute. Sit straight up and cough that tube right out of his mouth and tell us to stop arguing. The silence is interrupted by rhythmic beeps coming from the machines and monitors. The room is getting darker as the sun dives deeper into the horizon. I stand up to flick on the light above the sink as my son’s father begins to speak.

“Look, we need to learn to get along if I’m going to be staying with the two of you.”

“I told you that I didn’t need your help. I’ll be fine when he comes home from the hospital.” I say cautiously as I have no plan in place.

“You can’t take care of TBI and continue to work at the same time. You need to be realistic. And I want to be able to take this time to ….”

“…a what?” I cut him off. “Please just talk in full words so I know how to respond.” I hate that I’m paralyzed in this line of work and rely on him to translate.

“A traumatic brain injury. I’m sorry, I thought the doctors would have used those terms with you. Look, I’m here to help and I want to try to make it up to you. Our son needs us now. Now, more than ever. The past is the past and we need to start over. Starting from right here. With what we’ve got. There will be a lot of work ahead of us.”

I look away and squeeze my pride down. There’s so much bile in my stomach, I feel like I’m going to explode. “I need some air.” I say as I jolt out of my chair and walk out of the room. My heels click on the hard floor and I wonder how many more clicks until I feel the cool night air on my hot face. My hands finally reach the door and I burst out, throwing my face up towards the stars and take in a deep cool breath through my nose. I exhale and spin around slowly extending my arms out by my side. I reload. I recharge. I pace and breath until I feel ready. How do I know if I’m ready? None of this was supposed to happen. My son and I were in the home stretch of school and work and new beginnings with his music. We had it all planned out, and this….man…was not a part of our plan. I have no choice, I know this. It’s a huge hill that I can not climb alone. 

Damn it.

Why?

I let out a long reckless scream into the black sky. It came from a place so deep, it reached the stars I bet. It came from so many years ago, so many cries ago, and so many missed moments ago. I find myself outside my body watching this woman scream. It surprises me how wild I look. I don’t have the energy to care.  I dig in my purse for a tissue to wipe the snot from my saturated face. My body feels like Jell-O now. Every tension and every worry traveled up into outer space with that scream. I feel a million times lighter than I did when I first walked out here. I know what I need to do. And I think I can do it.  I turn around and walk back inside to the only two men I ever loved.