Until I Fall

by Claudia Burgoa

  “Enough is enough. I want to live, Anderson. Enjoy whatever time I have left happy, and not in between appointments. I can’t waste my time in pain after they poke me with needles and poison me with chemo.”

  I park in front of the valet, they open the door for my mother and help her down. Closing my eyes, I toss my head against the back of the seat. I hear a buckle click; a hand squeezes my shoulder.

  “Hawk,” Aspen whispers. “We’ll make sure her last days are the best of her life. I’m here for you guys.”

  Angling my head, I open my eyes and kiss her fingers. “Thank you, Aspen.”

  We climb down from the rental, joining Mom who’s already heading toward the elevator. The silence inside the elevator is deafening. I don’t have words to express the heaviness inside my heart. No matter what we do, how many specialists we visit, I have maybe a year with her.

  “Unacceptable,” I bark. “You and Dad taught me to fight.”

  “There’re many ways to fight, Anderson.” She uses a calm voice, taking my hand and holding it between hers. “Quality over quantity. Spending money while visiting my sister is more fun than visiting a string of doctors who will tell us what we already know.”

  She swallows. “I’m leaving soon.”

  The elevator stops, opening on our floor. “Some get off the ride sooner than others, Anderson. You risked your life for years. I accepted your profession, praying every night that you would come back home.” We step out of the elevator. She pats my cheek.

  “Stop struggling with my decision. I worry about leaving you alone. Still, I trust you’ll find happiness.” Mom tilts her head toward Aspen who’s walking with her chin down and slumped shoulders. “This doesn’t mean that you have to stop working. The importance of your missions and the people you save are greater than waiting by my side for my last day.”

  “I’ll give you guys some space.” Aspen continues next door, leaving Mom and me behind.

  “Mom, you can’t possibly ask me to—”

  “No, I’m ordering you to continue with your normal routine. Once we arrive home, I’m planning a trip to visit Dorothy, maybe we can go to London. I’ve never been there.” She stops in front of her door. My eyes sting, my heart squeezes. This can’t possibly be happening. We traveled to San Jose, searching for the cure, the answer to my prayers. Not the nail to her coffin. “I’m going to rest. The idea of going to visit the Golden Gate is magnificent, wake me up when you want to take us.”

  “Anderson, you’re a good man, a great son, and a hard worker. But if you want me to leave in peace, you have to show me that you’re living.”

  “Mom, I love you.” I kiss the back of her hand. “I’m going to miss you. These past months we’ve spent together are the best and hardest of my life. You trying to fix me makes it agonizing. There’s nothing to fix. I have a job and a home, plenty of friends and you.”

  “I just want to see you happy, in love: sharing your life with someone, and having a family.” Happy and in love? Looking toward the door where Aspen disappeared behind, I ponder about her and my feelings toward her.

  Is this where we’re heading?

  Waving my hand dissmisively, I give Mom the most practical response I can come up with. “I’m content, and sometimes that’s enough, Mom.” I continue lying, swallowing the tears cloging my throat and kissing the top of her head. Thirty-eight years have taught me how to behave and answer to Mom. She wants to make sure I’m perfectly fine with her choice. “I’ll be in my room working, if you need me.”

  As she enters her room, my stomach falls to the floor as my soul shatters. Mom, don’t leave me. My skin itches. I want to jump out of the building through a closed the window. Any physical pain won’t compare to this heartache. The walls are closing in on me, I have to escape from the building. I search for the exit, running down the stairs, through the lobby, and rushing through the parking lot with no direction—only one goal, burn the emotions and not go back until I accept Mom’s wishes. I’m leaving someone else behind, another person I can’t save.

  Exhaling and inhaling, I continue running. My heart rate’s up. My eyes focus on the path, and my brain’s focused on those whiskey eyes with the golden flecks. I allow Aspen to stay with me. Her scent, her silky voice and her sweet lips intoxicate me. The anger ceases, the sadness settles, and my soul begs for comfort. My speed increases as I change directions. I learned to work with a team years ago, understanding that without a plan, the possibility of success decreases. Improvising, I slow down stopping at the first convenience store I find on my way back to the hotel.

  I buy a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. You can only beat the vice for so long. Pulling my phone out, I call my therapist. The man who listens to me after every mission. He keeps my sanity in check after I coming home from a long period away; when I no longer have to pretend to be another person to infiltrate enemy lines.

  “This better be important. Do you know how dangerous it is to leave my grandchildren with only one adult supervising for more than five minutes?” my therapist asks.

  “Heard a few rumors.” I chuckle. My boss is his son-in-law, and has shared a few anecdotes about his son and cousins. They are always up to no good. “Want me to call later?”

  “No, you’re down in San Jose with your mother. I get the feeling that things are getting harder. I’ll take this as a friendly call, not a professional one. How is she doing?”

  “Still strong. We visited the doctor and . . .” I rake a hand through my hair, exhaling the frustration clogged inside my lungs. I brief him on the details of today’s visit and Mom’s reaction while I get through two cigarettes.

  “Sounds like she’s ready to leave on the next train, but enjoying the waiting room. Smart woman.” He isn’t helping with that comment. “As a friend and a man who understands that train of thought, I recommend you support her. Be by her side while she continues this journey.”

  “As my therapist?”

  “I want you to put yourself in her shoes and think what you’d like for your last days. What are the options you’re given?”

  Her options are to continue treatments while feeling sick or enjoy the rest of her days traveling with her sister and doing what she likes best. I slam my palm on my forehead. Of course, she’ll be wasting away in Seattle. “Fuck. I’m an idiot.”

  “Papa Chris!” A nasally little voice comes out from the other side of the line.

  “My time is up. Listen to your mother, and enjoy the time you spend with her.”

  The verdict is final. I can’t stop what’s coming anymore. I can’t fight it the same way I can’t fight the tide or the rain. Change is happening whether I like it or not. The question is what’s going to happen after she leaves me? Smashing my half-consumed cigarette against the wall, I climb up the stairs knocking on Aspen’s door.

  She opens the door and her arms for me. I walk into them, holding her tight as if she’s my lifeline. Her scent diminishes my anxiety. There’s a saying that I always repeat during my missions, “find strength within yourself. Fight with all your heart, and never give up.” Letting Mom go feels like giving up. My heart has no fight left in it; Aspen’s the one holding me together. I never thought that someone else could be the source of my strength.

  Releasing my hold, I take a look at her. Those whiskey eyes I dream about every night stare back. Her heart shaped lips clamp together. I study her. Her wavy, dark brown hair is tied into a loose ponytail. Her delicate features look classy, elegant. But above everything, it’s her eyes and the reflection of her soul that has me coming back to her. The tidal wave of feelings slams into my heart. There are too many for someone who has never dealt with them before. Among every emotion flowing through my system, the ones I feel for Aspen strengthen every day.

  “I’m here for you, Hawk,” she whispers, pushing herself onto her tiptoes and giving me a peck on the lips.

  This difficult journey doesn’t have a smooth road. Walking it with Aspen makes it less rocky and mor
e bearable.

  ASPEN

  SOPHIA ISN’T ONLY a neighbor to Brynn and me; she’s like the cool aunt everyone likes to hang out with at family reunions. There’s sadness in my heart is for her, for Anderson, but also for my dad. Her decision brings back so many memories. The pain of losing my father, the ordeal I went through, and the estrangement between my mother and me. It’s been almost three years since we lost Dad. The staggering loneliness I experienced reminds me of my mom, who I only speak to twice a year. She left me to carry the loss of my father. Lonely, I sat on a plastic chair next to Dad, and only the hospice personnel to be around us.

  This isn’t how I expected this to be, not that I had any idea on how I would spend the last days with my father. Hell on earth is a white walled room with only a crucifix hanging above the headboard. My hero—the man who read to me at nights and hugged me when the monsters under my bed threatened me in my sleep—lays on a hospital bed under a thin white cover connected to multiple machines, his skin glued to his bones. The desolation consumes me. I’m a doctor. I help people, and one of the most important people in my life is dying right in front of me. I have never felt so worthless and wretched.

  Rubbing my temples as I close my eyes, missing work and the numbness of the fast-paced life I live. Since Michael’s departure, I’ve thrown myself into my studies and work. Never letting myself feel, disregarding the void in my heart. These days, the vacuum is increasing, and it’s swallowing me into a deeper, darker hole. When Dad dies, I’ll go back to my life and the way I like to live it. The bustling emergency room had been a dream come true. It’s busy with so much to do and not a moment to think about my personal life.

  “Miss Zimmerman.” A male voice snaps me out of my trance. Oh, the asshole who loves to call me Miss instead of Doctor. “How’s your father doing?”

  “He’s stable.” I hand him over the chart I created. Checking Dad’s vitals every five freaking minutes keeps my mind busy, but not busy enough.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll do my own exam.”

  Asshole.

  I pay attention to what he does, remaining quiet. Once he’s done, I ask the right questions and suggest a few things, like dispensing morphine and bringing warm blankets more often.

  “We’ll take that into consideration. One of us should be back later today,” the doctor says as he’s out the door.

  Upset with his response, or lack thereof, I grab my bag and head to the cafeteria. I wish Mom would come to stay for a few hours so I could bathe and have a decent meal. Since it’s not possible, I grab a granola bar, an apple, and two bottles of Mountain Dew. On my way up, I decide to turn on my phone. Maybe call Austin, and convince him to come over to help me. As the apple on the screen appears and I tap my passcode, the notifications start.

  “Dear, you haven’t return any of our calls. Brooklyn left today for Boston. I’m hoping she’ll call us when you need us. We all love you.” Victoria, the head nurse from the ER sounds like her usual bossy self, but I know it’s her way of showing love.

  The next one is from Brynn. “According to this map, Hugo and I should be arriving in three days. I’d say longer if you add rest stops. Hugo likes to stretch his legs often. I know you said I can stay with your mother, but do you think we should book a hotel suite? Scarlett will fly over the weekend.”

  Mom isn’t a fan of Scarlett—and vice versa. Mom also threatened to clean the house and get rid of everything she didn’t feel necessary. Things like the furniture in the guest bedroom, my brother’s room, and clothing we will never use. I begged her not to touch my room insisting that I wanted to go through my things one last time, in case I forgot something important.

  Not that I had. When I was scrambling to find a residency program that would take me, Tacoma Medical Center wasn’t ideal. But Brynn had my back, and came too. It was on the opposite side of the country, hours away from even Scarlett. I made sure to take everything I wanted with me and leave behind tokens that might or might not interest me in the future.

  “Is everything okay, sweetie?” she answers immediately.

  “Yes, Mom. I’m just wondering if Brooklyn and Hugo can stay with you for the next few days.”

  “You know we can’t have dogs in this house, Aspen.” Yes, Dad is allergic, but he isn’t there anymore. Cleansing breath, and continue your conversation, Aspen. “I sold most of the furniture. There’s nowhere to put them.”

  “Where am I going to sleep?” Not that I have time to drive home and take a nap. Her silence continues. “Did you dispose of all my things?”

  “I had the movers pack your personal belongings inside some boxes. You and your brother can take them and sort them out later.”

  “Is everything okay, Mom?” I ask worried about her odd behavior. “Do you need me there?”

  “Of course not, Aspen. Your place is beside your father. He needs someone who knows how to care for him, and make his last days comfortable. Is he awake?”

  “He wakes up only for a few minutes.” If she were here, she’d know. What is wrong with her? If my husband of thirty-six years were dying, I’d want to spend every second with him. Wouldn’t I?

  “Did he say something? Did he ask for me?”

  Should I tell her about the brief exchange we had?

  He’d asked, “Where is she? Find her, and ask her to come and see me. I want to hear her voice one last time.”

  “I can call Mom if you want to see her,” I assured him giving a light squeeze to his frail hand.

  He shook his head. “Not your mother. Her.”

  “Who are you talking about?”

  “Helena,” he mumbled, right after his eyes closed and he was back to sleep.

  I haven’t found out who this Helena is and why is he looking for her.

  “Sorry Mom, he mumbled some words. Would you like me to pick you up later?”

  “No, I don’t want to deal with the petty faces and fake condolences. They make me uncomfortable. It’s hard enough to deal with the grief.”

  “You are not alone, Mom. Everyone is here to support you.”

  “No. I don’t know who ‘everyone’ is, but I need family,” she claims. “Once this is over, I’m moving close to Austin.”

  “Austin, Texas? Or ar you planning on moving close to my brother?” Is she serious? We have a better, closer relationship. “You can move to Tacoma with me, Mom.”

  “It’s your brother’s obligation to care for me. He’s the man of the house.”

  I love my mother, but her old-fashioned ways of thinking drive me insane. “Does he know about it?”

  “What’s with the twenty questions, Aspen?”

  “Not sure, Mom, I’ve been thinking. Why are you withdrawing? Why is it that we don’t have a better mother-daughter relationship?” I walk around the room, airing my doubts, resentments and . . . Why am I so upset at her? “We have a cordial relationship. That’s different from trusting. You barely confide in me with your problems. We pretend to have a loving relationship. But in truth, I have to guess what you feel because you keep everything inside.”

  “That’s the way it should be. Maybe that’s why you’re not married, yet. Have you thought about it?” No, Mother. I haven’t married because my fiance died before my wedding. I swallow all the words, letting her continue with her hurtful rant. “You are thirty and single. You have to learn your place because the clock is ticking.”

  My place? Should I google ‘Aspen’s place in the world’? Thirty and single is what? Oh boy, she has to learn that women don’t need to be married at a certain age to be successful. I don’t have to be attached to a man to be happy. Of course, I bite my tongue. Upsetting her more would get me nowhere.

  “Mom, I love you, but I’m not going to continue this conversation. Not while you’re grieving the loss of your husband—who you should visit before he dies. I don’t judge you. If this is your way of dealing with the loss, I respect it.” It’s wrong in many ways. However, I won’t condemn it. “I’m trying to b
e strong for the two of us. If you believe that leaving Boston is the next step, I support you.”

  “Aspen, there are things you’ll never understand or accept.” Her clipped, forceful tone makes me take a step back and look at the phone. What is with her? “Call if there’s any change.”

  She hangs up. Immediately I text my brother.

  Me: She’s moving in with you?

  Austin: Who?

  Me: Mom.

  Austin: Fuck no!

  Well, that answers my question. They haven’t discussed her plans. His caller ID flashes on my screen a few seconds later.

  “Why would you say that?” he says instead of hello.

  “I was on the phone with her, she’s cleaning the house. Moving to Seattle—”

  “Now I understand why she said, ‘once you become the man of the house, you’ll have to make some decisions.’ I thought she meant selling the house.”

  “You told her to sell the house?”

  “I suggested it, never thought she’d do it,” he says between clenched teeth. “Fuck, I can’t have her with me. Can you take her?

  “I offered. Mom said no, that she has to go with you.”

  “Do you know that she plans to find me a bride? She suggested match dot com.” I laugh at the idea of my mother filling out my brother’s profile. Notes: He thinks he likes boys, but he can make a great husband to any girl I approve. “It’s not funny, squirt.”

  I sober up. “Of course, it’s not.” My parents don’t accept that my brother is gay. They feel that if they don’t acknowledge it, it’s not true. Mom insists that it’s a phase. I worry about him. I’ve met many patients who tried to commit suicide because they don’t get support at home. Others don’t make it. Austin is a psychologist who works with an LGBTQIA teen advocacy center in Seattle. One of the reasons I pushed so hard to move to Washington State. After listening to many horror stories, he says that dealing with our parents is nothing in comparison. “I’m sorry, Aussie. Sorry that you have them as parents. They should be proud of who you are.”