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Mom's face is even paler than usual. Without a word she puts her fork down and stands up, leaving the table.
“Right now, we need to focus on getting through tonight.” I feel bad that mom is obviously upset, but I’m not sure what else to do but be realistic about the situation. Maybe mom's not ready for that. But I have a feeling Alex and I can both see that change looms on the horizon, whether we're ready for it or not.
We can also admit that there's no way we're getting through dinner. “Let's clean up and put things away.” As I say the words, I stand up and take my plate, and then walk over to gather mom’s uneaten food with a heavy heart.
Alex nods and follows suit.
Once everything is put away and the dishes are washed. Alex and I stand in the kitchen side by side, glasses of wine in hand.
“I'm not supposed to drink,” he says, looking into the deep red wine in the glass he’s holding.
“Oh, yeah, painkillers and alcohol are a no-no.” As I say the words, he takes another drink and I'm with him. The world already feels like it's ending and tomorrow we'll have to rebuild, but for tonight, we can rest in limbo.
“Do you think mom will be okay?”
I lift both shoulders at his question. “I hope so.” As we finish our drinks in silence, we finally retreat to our corners of grief, hoping for a call that might never come and accepting that maybe this is our new normal.
I bolt up in bed as Alex’s shout pierces the stillness like a lightning strike. “Lila!”
I leap to my feet, my heart hammering as I race through the house toward the sound of his voice. When I reach his side, I see my mom crumpled on the floor, her face ashen.
“Mom!” The word tears from my throat, blazing a trail of pain and fire in its wake. I drop to my knees beside her as Alex pulls out his phone. In the background, I hear him talking, but the world blurs together as something pops in my chest.
The sound of sirens wailing as they approach becomes a backdrop of agony as Alex makes his way to the door to let people in. Everything seems to be moving in slow motion as paramedics rush past me, her flurry of motion and urgency that somehow seems too slow to be real. I hold Mom's hand as she's lifted onto a stretcher, silently pleading with her to be okay.
“Is she going to be okay?” I ask, the world fuzzing black at the edges as the floor feels like it’s falling away from my feet, leaving me floating in an abyss.
“We're doing everything we can,” one of the paramedics says in a patient, kind tone.
We hurry out to my car and pull out behind the ambulance, racing toward the hospital, lights flashing. Alex’s hand takes mine, his grip vice-like and feeling like the only solid thing in a world spinning out of control. We exchange no words, but our fear hangs in the air like wildfire smoke: thick and choking while bringing tears to our eyes.
Events stop flowing in a linear fashion, instead flashing by like a rock skipping on the surface of water. I park the car, walk through the hospital, seeing the place a maze of corridors and harsh fluorescent lights. A nurse ushers us into the room where Mom lays with wires and tubes snaking from her frail body.
“She's stable,” the nurse says, and I can breathe again, just a little. “She had a heart attack.”
“Can they be brought on by stress?” Alex's voice is deadpan, but I sense anger in his words.
“Stress can be a factor. The doctor will have more information for you.” With that, the nurse fusses at mom for a moment, checking her IV, adjusting her blanket, and offering Alex and I the remote for the TV, and telling us to call if we need a nurse.
We settle into the chairs beside the bed. I take her hand, and Alex puts his head down on her other side. I glance at the heart monitor, watching the spikes and dips, thinking about how fragile she looks in the hospital bed.
“I love you, Mom,” I whisper, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead. For a moment I focus on her, watching her chest rise and fall as if afraid that at any moment that movement will still.
Time seems to slow down, and I have no idea how long we wait for the doctor to come in. But when she does, she walks in with a smile and worry in her eyes. Her words flow in one ear and out the other, and the only thing that I retain is that she'll need to change her lifestyle and that she'll survive.
When the doctor leaves, I breathe a sigh of relief.
She's going to survive.
We are all going to survive.
“I'm so mad at Emma.” As Alex speaks, I glance at him. There’s a dark anger in his tone and a furrow in his brow.
I want to tell him that this isn't her fault, but I'm not sure that I believe the words or that I can force them past my lips. I imagine she didn't want this or intend for it to happen, but without the stress and strain of her running away in the selfish way she had, this might not have happened.
“Let's take this one step at a time.” I'm saying the words both to myself and Alex, and he nods his agreement, creating a silent pact between us. We don't need Emma. We are a family without her, and we won’t ever run out on mom.
We’ll get through this.
