Page 22 of Tough Love
“Don’t be afraid to show him you’re upset too, otherwise he may think it’s expected that he shouldn’t be either.”
Briar slips his hand in mine as an orderly passes us by, and my heart breaks into a thousand pieces for this poor child. Adults can reason, justify, and make sense of loss—even if we may never accept it. But a child …
“Thank you,” I whisper down the line, afraid if I use the full strength of my voice I’ll crack.
He hesitates; something in the way he lets out a long heavy breath tells me he chooses his words carefully. “You might not feel it, but you’re doing an amazing job with him. He’s lucky to have you, Mimi.”
“I hope you’re right.” I sigh, squeezing Briar’s hand. “We should talk … after this.”
I catch his smile in the tone of his reply. “Yeah, we should.”
“I’ll ring you tonight.” I disconnect, and pocket my phone, wondering how crazy he thinks I am for calling him on his own time about this like we’re old friends and the past nine years never happened.
It was impulse, though. I can’t ask Mum and Dad for advice on how to break the news, not when Mum barely has a grip on her own emotions. And Jess? It would just involve half an hour of explaining things that I don’t have time for.
Evan—he’s probably seen this happen on the job a hundred times or more in some capacity or another, plus he knows us. He knows why Kath and I don’t talk, and he understands. At least I hope he does.
Briar looks up at me, waiting for direction. The look in his eyes says, “What do we do now?”
I squat down and reach out for him, wrapping my arms around his body as he does the same around my shoulders. He pulls me tighter and sighs, saying everything and yet nothing all at once. Despite the fact he’s probably a little old for it, I wrap my arms tighter around him and pick him up, hefting his weight onto my hip. It feels awkward yet strangely natural at the same time, considering I’ve never carried a child this way before now. Given the way he rests his chin on my shoulder, I think he appreciates the closeness as well.
“It’s time I told you what happened to Mummy, okay?”
He nods as we start down the hall to the waiting room again. I reach the doors through to the public area and stall. No way can I break this to him in a room full of strangers, but I also don’t want to do it in the office with my parents where he’s going to get caught up in the frenzy of grief when everyone around him breaks down at the explanation.
Instead, I pace with him on my hip, adjusting him to my front after a while and using both arms to hold him close. Back and forth between the ends of the hallway we go, passing dark rooms and open wards. And all the while I try to explain as best I can that Kath won’t be with us anymore, and that her body is broken beyond repair.
As predicted by Evan, Briar blames himself. His chin trembles as he asks me if his mummy is leaving because he refused to pick up in his room. I reassure him it’s not his fault, but I can understand how his little mind needs to find a reason for this punishment. Bad things happen when you’ve been naughty, so surely he’s messed up somewhere along the way to deserve this?
As distressed as he is, I manage to keep things relatively under control until it comes to explaining the now, and why we’re here.
“We need to go see Mum and say goodbye, okay?”
“Will we come see her tomorrow, too?”
“No, baby.” I reach up and stroke his dark hair away from those unmistakable eyes. “This will be the last time we get to see Mum, okay? So I need you to tell her everything you want to. Everything. She’ll want to hear it all.”
He goes disturbingly quiet; his body stiff before he lifts both hands and, arching against my hold, beats his little fists around my head.
“Why can’t we come back?” he yells. “I want to stay here with her!”
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You can’t. I’m so sorry.” I set him down, trying to draw him into a bear hug, but he pulls away, still hitting.
So I do the only thing I can to give this tiny human support as his world comes screeching to a halt around him: I take it. I let him expel all his frustrations onto me, to exorcise his need to hate and blame, to cope.
He hits out, even adds in a kick or two for a full two to three minutes, until he tires and falls to the floor. I scoop him in my arms as he wails, his lament echoing my own at this being his reality.
Mum reaches out as I re-enter the office, her hand retracting as she clearly realises I have this under control. I, the woman who made it her life mission to avoid connections and any reminders of what I lost, have found it within myself to be what a child in turmoil needs.
Stranger things have happened, I guess.
Worse things are about to right now.
SEVEN
Katherine Julia Harris passed at 11.23 A.M. on an overcast Sunday morning, held close by the ones she loved, and with her only child curled at her side.
It took six minutes for her organs to shut down one by one until her heart finally stopped, the monitor set to silent out of respect for us, her family, as that line flattened out to nothing.