Just One More Day

“The sky looks so beautiful right now.” My mom says softly, glancing out the window.

I follow her gaze, gently squeezing her hand. “You say that every day.” I tease.

My mom laughs softly, crinkles forming around her eyes, “And it's always true, isn't it?"

I smile. “Should we go on a walk?”

“I’d like that, sweetheart.”

Her voice is meek, timid, much weaker than it was just yesterday, which worries me. She already looks so frail in the giant bed they’ve given her, and her skin somehow looks pale even against the crisp white linen. I had asked for floral bedding; my mother’s favorite; but for now, the white would do. To others, this room might seem comforting and warm. Plush chairs, deep green walls, mahogany bookshelves overflowing with colorful hardcovers. A fireplace stands on the far side of the room, not currently lit, but adding to that homey feeling. A large, ornate rug covers the dark brown hardwood, and a pretty vintage lamp casts a soft, yellow light. A faint scent of cinnamon wafts through the air, a candle I brought in as an attempt to bring a bit of home to my mom while she stays here. It really isn’t too bad, but I glance slightly at the barely touched breakfast set neatly on the bedside table and remember why I hate it. Every time I’m here, I try not to dwell on it. I brush her gray hair behind one ear, and fight back any tears that threaten to break through.

“Then we’ll do it.” I promise. “How long do you think I’ll have to argue with the nurse to get them to let me take you around the garden?”

She laughs lightly, but the laugh turns into a coughing fit, every cough a dagger in my chest. I ignore it the best I can—she prefers it that way. When she recovers, she shakes her head, “If she heard any of that, I’m thinking longer than you’d want to.”

I give her a chuckle. Jokes. She loved joking about it. While it was harder for me to see any bright side to this, she was always so positive. That was my mom for you. That light got me through the hardest times of my life. If I just had a tiny bit of her in me, a small piece of that light, I’d be lucky. “All right, I’ll go bother her now.”

I release her hand and step out of the room. The stark difference between the warmth that emanates from my mom’s room to the harshness of the fluorescents in the hallway makes me cringe. When I see my mom’s nurse, she’s whispering to a colleague, a sullen look on her face. Her head is shaking, but when she sees me, she shoos the other woman off and plasters a smile on her face. The action makes me uneasy—probably the opposite effect of what she was going for.

“Emma, hi, did you just arrive?” she asks, underlying tension in her voice.

I don’t like it. The nervousness, the forced grin. “Uh, no, I was just in her room, got here about an hour ago.” I hesitate for a moment, then ask, “Everything okay?”

She opens her mouth, then shuts it tightly. Like she wants to tell me something but is unable to. Her short blonde hair bobs up and down as she nods her head. “Of course. Did you need something?”

That uneasiness grows inside me. I try shaking it off. “Right, yeah,” I clasp my hands together and lower my voice, “so, it’s such a beautiful day. I know you hate it when I ask, but it’s been so long since I’ve gotten to walk with her. Any chance you can help me sneak her out? I promise I’ll have her back in an hour. Please, Val?”

An emotion I can’t quite place flashes in her eyes, but in a moment it’s gone. She smiles again, “Absolutely. I’ll help you get her in her wheelchair.” She begins walking towards my mom’s room, leaving me shocked.

It had never been this easy before. It doesn’t feel right. None of this feels right. “Woah, really?” I grab her arm to stop her. “Just like that?”

She nods. “Just like that.”

The lack of explanation sends me into a spiral. Part of me doesn’t want to ask. Part of me knows damn well why this was so easy. That side of me that has been wanting to pretend the last six months have been just a nightmare, and that I’ll wake up soon enough. That small, hopeful voice inside that promised me it would all be okay. I ask, against my better judgement. “Why?”

She sighs. “It’s a beautiful day. I don’t want Mary to miss out.”

I can feel her holding back, so I press again. “Valerie, what is going on?”

She runs a hand through her hair. “Emma...”

“Does this have anything to do with the call I got from her doctor yesterday?” I ask, fear slicing through my veins. “Did something happen?”

Valerie sighs. “She’s not doing well, you know that.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

She reaches for my hand and squeezes gently. “I’ve cared for your mom for a long time now. She is a wonderful lady, and you are a wonderful daughter to her. I have loved every second I’ve had with you and Mary.” A tear forms in her eye, and my heart begins to pound. “But she’s fading fast, Emma. You have to be honest about what is happening now. There’s no ignoring it.”

My throat constricts. I had known this was coming, but I hadn’t wanted to admit it. My mom didn’t have much time left. I thought if we pretended like it wasn’t happening, it wouldn’t happen. But that’s silly. I knew better.

“I know.” Is all I can manage to say.

“Spend time with her today, tell her you love her, let her tell you.” She pulls me into a hug. “Just enjoy today. Now, let’s go get her situated.”

Valerie keeps her hand in mine as she guides me back to my mom’s room. “Hi Mary!” Valerie’s cheerful demeanor is back, and I envy the way she can turn it off and on. “I think a walk is a wonderful idea. Lucky you have a daughter so stubborn as her, she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

My mom smiles wide. “She’s a tenacious thing. Got that from her dad.”

I force myself to laugh, determined to hide my worry from her. “I’m sure Dad would be proud if he could see me today.”

Valerie helps my mom out of bed and settles her into her wheelchair. She lays a dark green, knitted blanket over her and slides slippers onto her feet. Out of the bed, she doesn’t look so small. In fact, somehow, she looks more alive than she did just ten minutes ago, like the promise of the sun on her face has infused her with energy. My heart squeezes, and hope wiggles its way in again, despite my better judgement.

“Mary, don’t you look like a doll.” Valerie fawns over my mom, and I smile at the interaction. Valerie had always been my mom’s favorite nurse. She was kind and attentive and treated my mom like her own family. It always felt good knowing she was in such safe hands, especially when I wasn’t able to visit for a day or two. She wheels her over to me and I grab the handles. “Don’t worry about any time limits, stay out as long as you’d like. It’d be a shame to waste such a pretty day.”

The air is crisp when we finally make it outside. The birds are chirping a late morning song, flitting between the blossoming trees that only springtime brings. My mom was right, the sky is a beautiful robin egg blue, billowing, fluffy clouds forming various shapes. Though the air is cool, the sun warms my face, and I pause for a moment to drink it in. The garden itself is green and lush, hosting various flower beds filled with tulips and sweet peas in a rainbow of colors and perfectly manicured bushes. Honeybees buzz hurriedly between the flowers in contrast to the butterflies, gracefully fluttering among the petals.

My mom gestures to our favorite bench, and slowly we make our way towards it, admiring to each other how beautiful everything was. Indeed, it all felt more vibrant today. More alive. The sun was brighter, the plants greener, the sky bluer. The marble is cool under my legs when I sit, and my mom points a wrinkled finger towards the baby squirrels chasing each other under the cherry trees. We giggle at the scene together. She’s smiling so big now—real, actual joy lighting up her face as her eyes close and she tips her head up towards the sun.

I just watch her, trying to memorize every detail of her. Her flowery pajamas, her soft, silver hair, her laugh lines. When she starts reminiscing, I listen gladly, smiling at her voice and her laugh. Stories of her childhood, her friends, how she met my dad, and raising me fill the hours. We spend the rest of the day like that, her talking, me listening, occasionally taking stroll around the garden. I hold onto every word, refusing to let go of her hand. Eventually, Valerie brings us lunch and later, dinner, but I know it’s simply a courtesy. I pick at the meals, but my mom isn’t hungry. It’s unsurprising, but sad all the same. Her trays of food lay uneaten, untouched, as she recounts the day she had me.

“You were this tiny little thing, Emma. So small, but so loud. The doctor had no idea how you were able to make the amount of noise you did.” She chuckles, coughing slightly. “You wouldn’t stop until they placed you in my arms, and from that point on you refused to be put down. It was either me or dad, no one else could hold you without you causing a ruckus. Right from the beginning, I knew you’d be a firecracker, and boy, were you.” She lets out another laugh, shaking her head.

I lean my head on her shoulder. “Was I that bad?” I smile, looking up at her.

She runs her fingers through my hair. “Not bad, my darling girl. The opposite. You were the light of our lives. If dad were still here with us, he’d say the same thing. Watching you grow into the woman you’ve become, getting to be your mom…I wouldn’t trade it for a thousand lifetimes.”

A silent tear runs down my cheek. “I wouldn’t trade having you as a mom for anything. I am who I am because of you. I hope one day I can be half the woman you are.”

She gently wipes the tear from my cheek, “You are already so much more. I could not be prouder.” There are tears in her eyes now, and suddenly I feel like this is some sort of goodbye. There’s a finality to our words, and the pain stabs at my heart. I hug her tightly, and I can feel her chest rising, falling slower and slower.

I finally let the emotion envelope me, a quiet sob escaping my lips. I feel as though I’m a little girl again, crawling into my mother’s arms after a bad dream. My voice catches as I whisper, “I’m so scared.”

But I don’t have to explain myself. She understands. Her hand is shaky as she brushes my hair down. “I know, I’m so sorry I have to leave you, baby.”

“But what am I going to do without you?”

She pauses for a moment, then squeezes my hand gently. “You’ll be okay. I’m always here with you. Always.” I pull away and she kisses my cheek. “I love you, Emma. More than you’ll ever know.”

My lip trembles as I lay my head back down on her shoulder, squeezing her hand once more. Words escape me, as the gravity of this moment crashes over me like a wave. My mom, the only mom I’ll ever have. I want to beg her to stay, even if it’s just a little while longer, because I really don’t know what to do without her, I don’t know who I am without her here. I want to tell her we haven’t had enough time, that I still needed her. But the truth was, I would always need her. No amount of time would change that. So instead, I let the tears fall. “I love you, mom.” I whisper.

We watch the sunset in silence, neither of us having any more words to say. She holds my hand in hers, her thumb stroking my palm in a soothing rhythm. We stay like that for a while as the day winds down, the sky darkens, and the quietness that dusk brings seeps into my bones.

And then I feel it. Her hand relaxes, and then somehow the night feels even more still. I feel my heart seize, a tight feeling in my throat. It suddenly feels very lonely, like my body instantly knows I no longer have any company. Tears continue to fall as I look at her one more time. She looks so peaceful. Her eyes are closed, a hint of a smile on her lips, her head laying gently against the cushion on her headrest. For a moment, I could almost pretend she is just asleep.

But I know better. My chest aches as I place a kiss on my mom’s forehead and take one more look at the sky. The clouds had dissipated from earlier, and tiny, twinkling stars swirl around the silvery moon, casting a soft glow on the world below. It feels ethereal, and I swear I can see planets and galaxies swimming in the indigo sea above me, as if the heavens themselves had opened their gates to boast their otherworldly beauty. I’d never seen such a magnificent night sky. She would have loved it.

I feel a new wave of emotion, my hand still in hers, and though I know she won’t hear it, I whisper to her one last time. “Oh, mom, I wish you could see it,” my voice trembles, and a bittersweet feeling swirls around me, “the sky looks so beautiful right now.”