by L. U. Ann
"But you need to stop going behind my back with Evan. He’s never going to listen to me if you give in after I’ve said no. I know he’s only a year and a half, but still.”
“Lacey, you’ve never been so disrespectful to me like this. I am his grandmother. I’m allowed to spoil him, and you say no to silly things. If I read him an extra story or give him another treat, it’s not going to kill him.”
“I know, but if I’ve already said no, then no one should give him what he wants because they think I’m silly for saying no.” Throwing my hands in the air, I say, “Mom, I know when Evan and I were living under your roof you became like a second mom, but I’m his mommy. Not you.” I end up with my thumb in my chest in frustration.
“I don’t understand the person you have become. Never in a million years would I have thought my daughter would speak to me in this manner. So, what? I helped you, and now you’re throwing everything I did for you out the door because you have Devon to take care of you?”
I gasp.
“Come on, Mom. That's really not what it's all about. I simply ask that you respect the boundaries in our house. If I say no to bubbles, I can’t have you getting them out and sneaking him off to play. That’s not fair. If he ever learns to listen to me, he definitely won’t when you’re in the room."
My dad begins to follow Mom, and I turn to him.
"Dad, you need to get her in with her doctor. Her medications are screwed up again. Her moods have been cycling. Please make sure she sees her doctor and you tell him what's going on. Please, get her help."
‘I will’ are my father’s last words before he walks out of the apartment. I truly wish he wasn't around anymore.
"We're going to be late if you don't speed it up, Sweetheart," Devon yells from the kitchen.
I'm trying my best to hurry. This outfit is hugging me in places I'm not used to. Devon is taking me to The Kennedy Center to see a performance. My dress is a deep blue with a large slit up my right leg. My matching heels and silver clutch accentuate the white gold earrings I wear, each one holding a stone the same color as my dress. As I finish clasping on the stunning jewels that were a gift from Devon last Christmas, I go in search of my impatient man.
At the sight of my gorgeous man, my breath catches in my throat. He must hear a gasp because he turns slowly to find me drooling over him. He is so handsome in his three-piece tuxedo. His silver vest and tie match my clutch and white gold jewelry, and set an incredible backdrop for his breathtaking eyes. His dark jacket and pants aren't quite black, but close. His breast pocket holds a white handkerchief that matches his dress shirt. Holy shit, I'm going to have an orgasm just watching his eyes bore into me as he walks slowly towards me, buttoning his jacket. My eyes move down his body, noticing how well the pants hang on him. He's so indescribably delicious. I no longer have a desire to go anywhere.
"Lacey, you are breathtakingly beautiful this evening," he says wrapping his arms around me, and placing a kiss on my cheek."
"Mmm, Devon, can we stay in?" I ask breathlessly.
"No Darling, I have plans for you." He chuckles as he offers me his arm. We walk out to the waiting car, and of course, Frank’s holding the door open for us.
"Did I tell you how devilishly handsome you look?" I ask once we are seated in the car.
"I don't believe you did. That’s something I don't think I would have forgotten so easily." He grins, and oh dear, that look does naughty things between my legs.
The performance is out of this world. I cannot believe how big the place is. There's a gift shop, lounges, and two restaurants. I'm amazed. After the performance, we take a walk along the Potomac River. Lane and Blake are keeping Evan overnight so that Devon and I can stay out late.
The stars are twinkling above and there isn't a cloud in the sky. Devon walks me to a spot on the River Terrace where we enjoy listening to the water swoosh against the concrete bank. Devon steps away, then turns me around to cup my cheeks in his hands.
"Lacey, I told you I fell in love with you the first night we met. I truly believe it was love at first sight. After finally finding you again, my heart became whole. My love for you has only deepened since. I cannot imagine a life without you and Evan. You two have made me the happiest person alive." He stops to reach into his pocket.
I gasp, is this really happening? Joyful tears tickle my eyes as the extraordinary man in front of me lowers to one knee.
"Lacey, you are the beat of my heart, the air that I breathe. My love, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife, and marry me? I promise to take care of you, make you as happy as you make me."
With a hand covering my chest and my left one in his, I nod incessantly. He's still talking about making me happy, and I just want him to shut up and kiss me.
"Yes," I shout. "Yes, I will marry you Devon. You are so amazing. I love you so much." I haven't looked at the ring he’s trying to slip on my finger because I can't take my blurry eyes off of him. He stands, pulling me into a kiss. We hear cheers around us, breaking the spell of the world where only we exist. We wave and smile at our happy bystanders.
He turns his attention back to me, and says, "Thank you, Lacey."
I shake my head, disagreeing with him.
"No, thank you."
We kiss for a moment, allowing our lips to linger as we breathe one another in. Tonight is magical, absolutely magical.
"Thank you for tonight," I say, before pulling back a hair to inspect the ring. Oh wow, my heart beats faster just from looking at the blue diamond in a vintage platinum setting. The ornate detail of diamond ribbons scrumptiously wrap the blue diamond that matches the eyes I will forever love. I cannot believe my dream is coming true.
Devon walks me to the waiting car. Once we arrive home, we make love like never before. It's deliciously slow, full of passion and absolute love.
Fourteen weeks pass.
Devon and I are officially married, but we refuse to tell anyone the date. Our real wedding date will be when we have the big ceremony, hopefully sometime next year. The adoption is underway. It's a matter of getting all of the documentation together.
In fourteen weeks, Mom has yet to contact me. I won't call. I just can't. I need her to understand that I'm Evan's mom, not her. Lane has tried a number of unsuccessful attempts to get Mom to see my point of view. Lane tells me to sit tight and that she'll come around eventually. Thankfully, I have Lane giving me updates on what Mom's been doing. Lane has been trying to get our father to listen to us, and get Mom the help she so desperately needs.
I miss her.
I really miss my mom. Evan misses her too.
Chapter Ten and a Half
"Caine!" I shout as he pulls his legs out from under Evan, causing Evan to fall face first into the hardwood floors.
I rush over to pick up my baby and the pacifier has cut his gums.
"You made him bleed!" I yell at Caine.
"I was just joking around with him."
"You can't do that to an eight month old. You can't play like that. That's not playing. It’s cruel. I don't want you anywhere near him. Just yesterday, you didn't watch him close enough while he was on the bed. Do you remember allowing him to roll off, bruising his ear and head?"
"Lacey, we've already gone over that and I apologized!"
Deep breaths.
"I know, but it's those acts that make me question whether or not you are father material, or is it you just don't care? I have never put Evan in danger like that."
"Bullshit, and I'm done talking with you about this. You either use the child support the way it was intended, to get a plane ticket for him, or I'll stop sending you money."
"Caine! Child support is supposed to help pay for diapers, food, and clothes. You aren't paying child support so that I can use that money to send him to you. I cannot believe you are so ignorant."
"I'm serious, Lacey. I told you to buy the damn ticket."
"Huh... What the hell?"
I throw my pillow over
my head. For Heaven sakes, my alarm cannot be going off already. It feels like I just fell asleep. Hearing it again, I realize it's not my alarm. What is that noise? I'm still not able to place it. I remove the pillow from my head, toss my hair so I can see what time it is, and pray it's not morning. When I glance at the clock, it reads 11:52 pm.
There is that noise again. Ugh, it’s the phone! Who the hell is calling me at this ungodly hour? Whoever it is will wish they never learned to dial a phone – much less know me. I am not a pleasant person with less than seven hours of sleep.
Kicking off the covers in an effort to rid myself of anger, I answer the phone. “Hel-hell-hello?” I ask, trying to get my bearings.
“Lacey ,Honey, I need you to come right away to the hospital.” It's my father.
“What? Why, what’s wrong?” My stomach drops as confusion and panic set in.
“It’s your mom."
Desperate to get the knot out of my throat, I manage to ask, "What do you mean?"
"I found her unconscious on the kitchen floor. She isn't in good shape. Can you call your sister, please? She needs to be here, too.”
Wanting to be by my mom’s side already, I hang up with no more than an okay. I call Lane and she is just as irritated with a phone call at this hour as I am.
"Lane, you need to hurry to St. Agnes Hospital."
"Why, what's wrong?"
I quickly explain about our mom before she bites my head off.
"I'll meet you at the hospital," she says.
I am dressed within minutes. I pray for my mom and begin repeating my silent mantra: Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.
“What’s going on, Babe?” Devon startles me from my thoughts.
“It’s my mom. Sh–She took something and my dad found her. She’s at the hospital.” I can barely get the words out as I fumble around to find my other shoe. Why do things have to be so hard to find when they are needed most? Ah, FINALLY! I hold it up after pulling it out from under the bed.
Sitting up, he asks, “Is she okay? Do you want me to come with you? I can see if my parents will watch Evan."
“I don’t know if she's going to be okay. I’m going now. Go back to sleep. You have a big meeting tomorrow.” After giving him a quick kiss, I head out of our bedroom. I whisper ‘I love you’ over my shoulder.
I stop by my son’s room to tuck him in further and smooch my favorite little man. My thoughts linger on Evan sleeping so peacefully. I don't know what he would ever do without my mom. They are so close, or at least they were before we stopped speaking. "No, no!" I tell myself. I cannot think like that and I need to get going. I give him one more kiss and hastily leave the house.
Driving to the hospital with teary eyes is difficult. My silent mantra please be okay, please be okay, please be okay has returned. It is the only noise I can tolerate. I don’t worry about speeding. If I happen to get pulled over for speeding, I will beg the officer to take me the rest of the way with his lights and siren if it means I can get to the hospital quicker.
I pull up to the ER after probably breaking a number of traffic laws. I can’t get inside quick enough. I throw my car in park and run through the doors. My dad spots me and takes me back.
Walking through the sterile doors does nothing to ease my anxiety. I see nurses and doctors running around to various patients with ease in this toxic environment. I have to keep telling myself to put one foot in front of the other. How can these people work around such tragic events every day? How can people stand to see death on a daily basis? I hear machines everywhere. I don’t know how many patients are here being treated for an emergency tonight. One is too many. One of them is my mom. It just seems too surreal.
My dad stops in front of a curtain, motioning that we've arrived at our destination. Standing outside of my mom’s room, I try to breathe past the knot in my throat. It feels as though my lungs are beginning to cave-in. With only a curtain separating us, I feel the emptiness coming from her room. It feels as if I am being pulled into a black hole ready to drag me in and never let go. I take a deep breath and peel the curtain back just enough for me to enter. I freeze. I cannot believe what is in front of my eyes. There is no way. Absolutely no way that my mom, the woman who gave birth to me, could look like this. Everything inside of me has stopped for a moment. I must be in the wrong room. No, this cannot be. It isn’t until my father says something that I come out of my thoughts. I walk over to the side of her bed and stare.
My father tries to explain the lengths the doctors have gone to help save her. “They pumped her stomach and gave her charcoal to hopefully absorb the medications she took trying to end her life. They keep asking me what she took. I have no idea. I didn’t see any medicine in the kitchen. I watched while the paramedics worked on her. The doctors told me if we knew what she took, then they might be able to give her an antidote. Now, she is on life support. Her heart isn’t beating on its own and her kidneys have shut down. That thing in her stomach is making her kidneys work. We don’t know what’s going to happen to her arm. She laid on it too long and cut off the circulation. They are going to try to save it.”
I am only half-listening, maybe not listening at all. I cannot get over the physical state of the lady lying before of me. How can my father be so calm? After 29 years of marriage, how can he speak so effortlessly about his barely alive wife?
I don’t respond. I stand, looking at my mom. It doesn’t look like her at all. Even though I can make out a few recognizable features, I pray they have the wrong patient in here. This can’t be my mom. Her eyes are so swollen they are popping out. Her tongue is so swollen it fills her entire mouth. Her entire face is swollen. I glanced down at her arms – they are swollen – everything is larger than it should be. Why is everything swollen?
I want to fall to the ground and cry at the devastating image before me. What the hell are these doctors doing? I don’t understand. They are supposed to be helping her. Why aren’t the doctors in here? Instead, she is hooked up to all of these machines. She has something large on her chest that is supposed to be helping her breathe or something. She has tubes everywhere. She doesn’t look like my mom. Oh, dear God, please don't take her!
Finally, the guilt that overcomes me gives me strength to speak. “I am so sorry, Mom. I’ll do anything. Please don’t go. I love you so much. Please don’t leave us. You have Evan. Stay for Evan,” I whisper in her ear. I hope she can hear me. Her ears are probably swollen shut. Oh dear God, please let her hear me! She needs to hear this from me. Please, I beg. I believe, once she hears what I have to say, she'll have the strength, and possibly the courage, to fight.
All of a sudden, the curtain flies open, and my sister and her husband, Blake arrive. Lane rushes to the other side of our mom. She doesn’t speak. She spends time visually going over all of the foreign machinery that is keeping our mom alive. She looks at me, eyebrows raised. I know what she is thinking. I’ve thought the same thing. Our mom has given up. Our mom can’t live anymore and has decided to give up. I have a sinking feeling that my stubbornness is to blame for all of this. I pray over and over, God, please let her be okay. I will forget everything she’s said to me. I will do anything for You to bring my mom back.
Sometime later, two doctors enter the room. I have no idea how long we've been here. It feels as though time does not exist right now. The doctors are dressed in white coats with what appears to be blue scrub pants and blue fabric coverings over their shoes and on their heads. I'm unable to read the looks on their faces. Either way, it doesn't matter what they look like. I want my mom to look like the beautiful lady she is. Turning my eyes back to my mom, the doctors begin to tell us the measures they have taken to try and stabilize her. They fire off technical medical terms - none of which I care about. The doctors speak about Gastric Lavage, activated charcoal, something about a nasal gastric tube they hope will do something. I don't know. I just want them to fix her. This person they are talking about is my mom! I don't know how to feel
right now. Scared? Angry? Sad? I feel them all, but the biggest feeling that is hovering over me is guilt. I realize the doctors are still talking, and I try to focus on what they are saying. I just want my mommy back.
"We are moving her up to the ICU. The next 24 hours will be the toughest. We will know after 24 hours if she will make it."
The doctors ask if we know what she took. Lane and I turn to our father, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t know anything. If he did, she wouldn’t be somewhere between life and death.
The doctors proceed to tell us, "In the meantime, we need to perform surgery on her arm." The doctors ask our father about how her body was positioned when he found her. He goes into detail about how he found her lying on the kitchen floor. The doctors continue. "We need to make a long incision up the length of her forearm to get it to drain. We hope by draining her arm, we can save it. If there are complications, we will need to amputate."
Oh my God! I look over at my sister and she’s looking at me with a horrified, worried look. My brother-in-law, Blake, has an almost identical look on his face. Our father's visage features a blank stare when he nods to the doctors, and then looks at me. I know what he is thinking. I know what everyone in this room, except for the doctors, is thinking. They know it’s my fault for not giving her what she needed.
After our mom is situated in the ICU, Blake and Lane decide to go to our parents’ house and scour the place for clues on what medications she took. Our father swears up and down that he’s looked everywhere. I know that if she wanted to be found, she would have listed her medications on a notepad in her nightstand. That's where Lane and I have found them before.
Sure enough, Lane is able to find the notebook on our mom's nightstand. On the last page of the notebook is a yellow sticky note with the list of medications she took. Oh my God! She didn’t want to die! This was a cry for help. She did want to be found. We rush the information to the doctors, hoping the new knowledge will help them bring her back to us.