For the Love of Peter Jones

by Adaeze Okoli

  CHAPTER ONE

  “Peter, you need to be strong. Strong for your father, and strong for yourself.”

  I looked up into my mother’s eyes that were red and watery; her once bright green eyes had lost their earthly glow. Mom’s eyes are moist from the endless test the doctors asked her to take. In the end, not getting her any steps closer to finding a way to make her better. Watery because she’s trapped in a Cedar Sinai hospital. Unable to enjoy the beautiful outside that Los Angeles holds. Mom’s lovely unique eyes were watery because she knew today would be the last time she would see her son.

  Stage four breast cancer that spread to her bones. This is the monster that’s been wrapping its deadly arms around my mom for three painful years. This heartbreaking disease will be the one to take my mom’s life on this bright sunny day. I stared at my mom, her long and wavy hair surrounded her face. The light freckles on mom’s porcelain skin seemed to be even more visible than usual. Her cheekbones were more prominent than the females you see on the runways.

  She used to be a healthy 135lbs. But as weeks turned to months, and months turned into a few years. Mom’s weighted dropped to eighty-nine pounds. All of mom’s bones showed, her rib area seemed to stick out the most. I watched as she took a breath, she shook. As of a month ago, mom would shake when she took a breath. Despite her hair not being as thick and her weight being low. She still is the same gorgeous woman that loves me wholeheartedly.

  Quickly, I pulled myself out of my thoughts.

  “Okay mommy,” it was all I could bring myself to say. I knew my voice came out choked, but I was trying to smother my tears.

  “Peter,” I listened as my mom’s voice softened. “You are such a smart young man. You have hundreds of memories of us. If someone asked you to share your favorite memories of us, you’d be able to do it. You’d recite the memories like a story you’ve been telling for years. Use your memories we’ve created to carry you through these difficult times. This world can take me away from you, but one thing I know it can’t take away from you is the amount of love I have for you.”

  She struggled to try to get her words out. Each word she said had to be followed by a lengthy pause. If she spoke too fast, she would be sent into a coughing fit. One painful enough to make her eyes swell up with tears. Mom’s body had already given up, but mentally she’s still a fighter. Mom never lost hope, even when the doctors told her the chemo wasn’t working. And not when dad stopped visiting her because he couldn’t bear to see what she had become. As she lay here in the hospital bed dying, mom never lost hope. She knows by her not giving up, she was giving me hope in believing she would be okay.

  She winced as she gradually shifted herself over. Any sort of movement exhausted her. The doctors now have my mom wearing adult diapers. Walking to the bathroom is now too much of a struggle for mom. Doctors began to notice mom was left winded when trying to stand up. Once they put the diapers on my mom, a part of me died. The part of me that died was hope. The confidence I had mustered up was gone. I started believing less and less that mom would get better. A part in the back of my mind knew she wasn’t going to become healthy again after she had to wear adult diapers. Mom was no longer considered an able body.

  My mother moved her frail body over to one side of the bed. When mom shifted to one side of the bed that usually was a sign she wanted me on there with her. Without hesitation, I got on the small hospital bed with my mom. I looked at the fragile woman who had given me life. She was more than my mom, she was the person I could tell anything and everything too. She’s my best friend.

  I put my body down cautiously, making sure I wouldn’t hurt my fragile mother. When I was on the bed, mom put her head on my chest and held my hand. I tried breathing in my moms scent. I noticed her usual pleasant smell of sunflowers and birds of paradise no longer welcomed my nose. I’m losing her, the pungent smell of sickness lets me know I won’t have my mom much longer. Moms smell was the last thing I was counting on not to change as she was going through this transition with cancer. Before when she would get sick and be taken to the hospital, I’d lay my head down, close my eyes, and breath in her earthy aroma.

  With my eyes closed and her scent filling my nose. I could imagine I was at home with mom. Sitting on our porch, drinking apple juice out of old jelly jars. Now as I lay on my mom and close my eyes, I don’t get that familiar smell that whisks me away and reminds me of home. I can’t imagine her sitting on the old white porch with me. I can’t believe anything.I tried covering up my eyes with my free hand so she wouldn’t be able to notice me crying. She moved my hand from my face and wiped away my tears.

  Mom kept her head on my chest and with the little strength she had in her body she started to sing a song.

  “Hush little baby don’t say a word, mama’s going to buy you a shiny new racing car.”

  Mom always changed the words to that song because she could never remember the words. Even though she would forget the words, that didn’t stop her from singing the song. That was the last song I would get to hear from my mom before I went to sleep. I didn’t know it yet, but when I awoke my mom would be gone forever. That last sweet lullaby mom sang to me would no longer be my reality. The sweet tunes of my mom’s melody would become part of a fading memory.

  Repetitive beeping noises woke me up. It’s the heart monitor my mom is hooked up to. Her heart rate is dropping fast. Doctors come rushing in, I’m still laying on the bed with my mom. My body became almost paralyzed. A nurse came to where I was at and tried to move me, but I began to scream.

  “No, don’t touch me.” I felt a clammy hand grab my wrist.

  It was my Mom. She was trying to say something to me, but the words weren’t coming out. Mom started gasping for air and her eye filled with tears.

  “I don’t know what to do!”

  A nurse came near me again, “No, don’t touch us,” I screamed.

  “Mommy, please come back, don’t leave me like this.” I looked around in a panic, a nurse tried to move me.

  “Stop, what part of stop don’t you bastards understand! My mom, she’s trying to tell me something.”

  And then I heard it, the flat line. I looked at my mom’s monitor, there was no longer the line signaling a beating heart. All the monitor showed was a straight line. I laid on the bed crying and shaking. I kissed my mom’s cheek a dozen times, hoping that each next kiss would be the one that would bring her back. Mentally my mind knew what happened, but my body was in shock, and I couldn’t move. Death is something no one is prepared for. Let alone we are never ready to see our loved ones die in front of us.

  I grabbed my mom’s hand and screamed, “Come back, you can’t leave me here like this!”

  Boom-boom-thump that was my heartbeat. My heart was beating so fast I couldn’t catch my breath. The room started spinning, and my vision started to become a blur. I tried running out of the room, but a male nurse caught me, and then my body went limp, and I blacked out.

  I opened my eyes expecting to see mom by my side, but I had forgotten that quick that mom had passed away. A nurse walked in and asked me a question.

  “How are you feeling?”

  I stayed still in the bed and stared at the woman. What kind of question was that? A trick question like the one’s history and math teachers love to put on students test? I had to fight the urge not to respond to her insulting question in a rude way. I swallowed my anger and sadness and responded.

  “I’m fine, thanks for asking,” that’s all I could manage to say.

  The nurse gave me a sad smile and nodded her head and walked out of the room.

  Sixteen years old and already robbed of having a normal life. My mom would never get to see my date and I go
to prom. She would never get to see me graduate. Nor will she ever see the women I choose to marry say, “I do.” Her death only took place a few hours ago. Yet, right away this loss filled my heart with a permanent absence. A void never to be filled.I looked at the hospital ceiling. My eyes immediately bounced to the cracks in the upper corner. I knew my mom was going to die soon, but when she passed, I always imagined myself overwhelmed with emotions. A wreck. I thought I’d be a sad emotional wreck, but I wasn’t. I’ve never felt this numb in my life.

  An hour had passed before the same nurse from earlier came back.

  “You’re free to go. Your dad is down the hall at the front desk waiting.”

  I nodded my head at the nurse to acknowledge I heard what she had said.

  “You sure you’re alright sugar? Anything I can get you before you go?”

  I looked at the nurse. She’s a petite African American with wavy hair swept up in a bun. The woman messed with her fingers a bit while waiting for my response. Nail bitter, I clued into her fingers. Then it dawned on me. She didn’t mean to ask an offensive question earlier. She’s nervous and didn’t know what to ask.

  “I’m fine, thank you for checking,” I told her.

  She gave me a half smile and turned. I picked up my backpack from the side of the hospital bed and began walking out of the room.

  Taking a deep breath, I started walking to the front desk to meet my dad. I took a deep breath as if this would save me from my father’s harsh words. Mom told me when she met my father he was an alcoholic, who experimented with drugs. He was the meanest man with the worst temper, said, mom. But when it came down to her, drugged or not, he’d become gentle like. The temper he had would dissipate by the sound of her voice or her soft touch. My mom was the woman who pushed and pushed for him to go to rehab. After a few years of rehab, and my mother’s support. Eight years of alcoholism had been reversed. Mom was dad’s angel.

  When I was younger it was very few times I saw his temper become out of control. Thanks to mom always being there to calm him and getting him in rehab. Although, there’s one time that always stuck with me. This is when my mom went to the store to pick up groceries for our older neighbor. I was left alone with dad. I had to be about five. I was hungry and climbed onto the countertop to reach the shelf that my sugar Honeys Cheerios were at. CLASH! The cereal bowl I had on the counter along with my cereal fell onto the floor. Glass pieces and Cheerios were everywhere.

  Dads massive sounding feet came marching out of the bedroom. His face was a deep red. He grabbed my wrist.

  “Damn it, boy! How stupid can you be? Look at this fucking mess you’ve made. Are you proud of yourself? Huh boy? I’m talking to you damn it!”

  I cried, “I’m sorry daddy, I… I sorry.”

  My dad smirked at me. “You’re damn right you’re sorry!”

  He picked some plates from the cabinet and threw them at the wall.

  “Is this what you want a boy?”

  Dad grabbed another plate and smashed it. He then grabbed my wrist again even tighter than the last.

  The front door unlocked, and there stood mom. Mom was shooting daggers into dads eyes.

  “Damon Jones, let go of our child or so help me God.”

  Her voice was stern and unafraid.

  “What has gotten into you?” she asked him.

  And like that, my father let go of me.

  “I’m so sorry Linda, I… I don’t know what came over me.” My mom looked at him.

  “We’ll talk later Damon.”

  Mom then turned to my direction, kissed my head and wiped my tears.

  “I’m sorry baby, let’s go get you cleaned up. Mommy won’t leave you again,” she picked me up and kissed my forehead again, then sang a lullaby.

  When mom first was diagnosed with cancer dad’s drinking problem started up again. All those years he had been sober was gone. He became mean, mean like the man mom said he use to be. Now that his angel who could calm him in seconds was gone, I didn’t know what he would do. Father didn’t want me in the hospital visiting her anymore. He never explained why. He yelled at me when I came home after visiting hours. I remember him taking a drink of his whiskey before speaking to me.

  “What the hell were you doing visiting my wife? You stay away from that hospital. If I find out you’ve gone again,” he took another swig, “You might as well not come home because it ain’t going to be well for you.”

  And here I am, even after that warning, in the hospital. I never stopped going to visit mom, the thought of not seeing her disgusted me. My father, who was married to mom for eighteen years one day decided not to see her anymore. Is this what love is? If so the idea of love sickened me.

  I reached the front desk where my father was standing. Looking up into his face I noticed his eyes were red and puffy. It was apparent that he had been crying pretty hard.

  “I’m so sorry dad.”

  I tried to think of what I should do or say next, the only thing I could think of was to put my hand on his back. He pushed my hand away, refusing me to try and comfort him.

  “Get in the car Peter.”

  When he spoke, my body shuddered. The way he said my name frightened me. He said my name with so much hate and venom. I stood there with a blank expression on my face. This is ridiculous; he’s acting as if he’s the only one who lost someone. She was my mother.

  “Are you deaf boy? I said go get in the damn car!”

  Without saying a word, I started heading out to the car.

  I’m sitting in the car waiting for my dad to walk out the hospital. There are so many thoughts going through my head. Only a few hours ago I lost my mom. She was my provider. My best friend, and the only person on this earth who loved me. My dad wasn’t nice to me, he did what was expected of a parent. Dad fed me and made sure I had a safe home to live in. Other than that we never had father and son talks, he never came to my school events and not once has he told me he’s proud of me. My father never showed any real signs of affection towards me. I observed my dad walking out of the hospital building. All of a sudden my mind started worrying about what I was going to say when he got into the car.

  When he got into the car, he started up the engine and opened the glove department. This is where dad stored his liquor. I watched as my dad took a long swig of his drink. Before dad started driving, he spoke to me.

  “Peter, how many times have I told you to stay away from my wife? I told you to stop visiting her at the hospital.”

  I looked at my dad in disgust. How dare he say “my wife,” he wasn’t much of a husband to her, not since she had fallen ill.

  “Ha, my wife… That’s rich coming from you! You never visited her in the hospital. Not once did you call and check on her. You don’t deserve to call her your wife. You are far from being a husband.”

  I said all of this while looking at him, refusing to break my stare.

  Father stops the car right in the middle of the road and gives me a hard look. We were at a stop light. He takes another long swig of his drink. Say something else I dare you, that’s what his stare looked like it was saying. Then he did something I never expected him to do, something that hurts me more than his words. For the first time in my life, he hits me.

  “You shut your mouth boy!”

  I looked at the man that’s supposed to be my father. I was speechless. When I was younger, he yelled at me a lot and grabbed me a few times, but hit me? Never, not once had he gotten livid enough to do so.

  “I’m sure mom would be proud to see you like this,” I said.

  I got out the car slamming the door. I left my father sitting at the traffic light in his car. I started running. I didn’t know where I was going. My legs pumped with so much energy, it seemed like they were a GPS. Knowing exactly what route to go. The faster I ran, the more the side of my face throbbed where my dad hit me.

  By the time I decided to stop running, I had reached my house. I looked at my small grayish blue home. Mom painted
the home this color because she didn’t like the generic beige and white color homes. I looked at our front porch that has flowers surrounding it. I could picture my mom standing over the plants watering them in her gold color sundress.

  I felt a little smile creep on my face, but as immediate as the smile formed on my face, it left. Once mom’s illness progressed, she had to stop working her job as a receptionist. Her having this garden to work on and tend to after she could no longer work, gave her joy, a sense of purpose. She’d merily prance around and water each flower, although her garden was small she was content. I looked around the yard, and my heart sank. I’d never get to see mom in her mini garden. Mom’s presence was already missed by the flowers. The sunflowers were beginning to wilt, and the leaves were starting to brown. Like mom, her plants will be gone soon.

  I unlocked the front door and walked to my bedroom. As soon as I laid down on my bed, I realized how tired I was. Before I fell asleep, I grabbed the picture of my mom and me. She looked so happy and healthy, and of course, I looked a mess. My hair was greasy, and I looked dirty from making a ramp out of leaves and dirt so I could have my Hot Wheels car race. I smiled a lot whenever I looked at this picture it’s one of my favorites. At this particular moment, the image didn’t make me smile but did make me forget about how bad things were for a bit. I placed the picture over my heart and put my hand down on top.

  “You’re free mom. You’re no longer struggling or hurting. You’re now one of the angels in heaven.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  My body felt heavy getting out of bed, my muscles ached from the running I did yesterday. Coming to the realization of what day it was, I began feeling sick. I looked around my tiny room. The light grey paint on my bedroom walls saddened me. Never had the color of my room bothered me, in fact, I thought nothing of it. Looking at the bleak tone gave me a sense of feeling lost. The color wasn’t light enough to be associated with happiness. Yet, not dark enough to associate with negative emotions. The color was in between, and the more I noticed that, the more discomfort I felt. I woke up at six in the morning, my body is used to waking up at this time.