Page 23 of Tough Love
Six minutes of eerie silence in the room, where each of us measured our breaths as we watched her intently, seeing different things: a daughter taken too soon; a mum that will be sorely missed; the sister I shared many childhood memories with, who used to be my best friend, my confidant, and my everything.
My biggest regret, besides the thing that tore us apart.
As I walked out the doors of the hospital, carrying a tearful Briar in my arms, I knewthatwould be the moment that stuck with me. Not the regrets, not the look on my parents’ faces as they prepared to bury a child, or the sympathetic glances from the nurses as we left the ward.
Nope. It would be the weight of responsibility that settled on me as I comforted the one person who didn’t deserve this the most.
The following hours passed in a daze as we robotically went about what needed to be done. We arrived at Kath’s house in profound silence. Mum opened the door and stood aside as silently, one by one, we all walked in and with a knowing glance, went our separate ways to do what was required of us.
Mum made meals for the busy days ahead, burying herself in the familiar business of cooking, occupying her mind with flour, spices, and gravy instead of the loss we’d all just experienced.
Dad fixed menial things around the house: a loose hinge here, a small dent in the wall there. He put his hands to use so that he didn’t have to express his words instead.
And I … I directed the love I’d misplaced for a sister as caught up in a web of lies as I was, into her child instead.
Briar slept, the blinds in his room doing little to cut out the bright afternoon sun, but what did it matter to a child who was exhausted mentally and emotionally? I sat on the edge of his bed after tucking him in, my hands still smelling of the lavender soap in his bathroom, and my heart as heavy as it was when he crawled from my embrace to Kath’s side as the doctors shut off the life support stage by stage.
Only now, when it’s too late, do I finally understand the power of love. Because looking at that boy, I’d set aside all Kath’s and my differences to trade places and be the one driving that car.
This kid needs his mum, and he needs her more than I need my independently single lifestyle. My parents would still grieve, the unjustness would still remain, but Briar would have a mother.
If only I could trade.
Mum glances up from her packaging of stew into Tupperware containers as I enter the kitchen, her expression blank yet saying so much.
“Can I do anything?”
She shakes her head, the grey in her shoulder-length hair even more prominent. Or maybe it’s just that I’m taking more notice of the details now, saving everything I can for later, aware that you only get one chance to make a memory before it’s lost forever.
I stop beside where she works, leaning back against the counter as she struggles to get all four corners of the lid clicked in place. Her brow furrows, and she hangs her head in defeat, her back arching with the deep breath she pulls in to compose herself.
I reach over and gently push in the centre to expel the air. “Try now.”
“Thanks, love.” She shakes her head, probably frustrated that the most simple of tasks is now evading her capability. “My head’s just….” She shrugs.
I can’t name it either. I guess it’s the limbo between facing the inevitable, and realising that it’s finally happened.
“If you guys are okay watching Briar, I’m going to head home and get changed, pick up a few things.”
She nods, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes. Of course. We’ll be okay.”
“I’m guessing you didn’t book a return ticket yet?”
“No.” She stacks the containers and lifts them to take the pile to the fridge. “But we’ll need to call around and arrange a few things. The neighbours are feeding the dogs at the moment, but we’ll probably have to put them in kennels if we’re going to be a while.”
I open the fridge door for her. “What happens to Briar now?”
She places the containers two-high in a line, making sure they’re evenly placed before she speaks. “I’m not sure.”
“I don’t know who his father is,” I say, broaching the subject, “but I’m guessing he’ll—”
“He’s out of the picture,” Mum states curtly before slamming the fridge shut.
I choose to keep my distance as she moves the dirty pots around to make space in the sink with more effort than necessary.
“He hasn’t had a thing to do with Briar, and Kath would want it kept that way.”
Okay….“Do we phone somebody to see if she has a will? I don’t know how things happen from here.”