What My Mother Wanted

What My Mother Wanted

As I walk out of the hospital doors, I think about how my mom will probably never walk out these doors again. Most people, with thoughts like these, feel grateful for what they have. I just get reminded of what I don't have.

My mother is in a hospital room with tons of doctors bustling around her. I don't understand why there are so many, considering none of them are able to save her. If any of them do save her though…I'll be forever in their debt.

My mom is all I have in the world. My dad is…who knows where. My grandparents are in some Nursing Home in New York. And my mom was—is!—an only child, so I don't have uncles or aunts either.

I'm also without siblings. I used to love being a spoiled only child, my mom's favorite kid without question. Now though…I have no one to comfort, and no one to comfort me.

"Well, there's a good and bad to everything," I think to myself as I walk towards the hospital's sorry excuse for a visitor's garden, my destination. "Except for Mom dying. There's no good to that."

The "garden" consists of a walkway with pretty rocks to either side, a couple of shrubs, a tree, and a bench. The bench has a faded sign on it which says WET PAINT, but I touch it and nothing comes off. I sit down on the wooden bench and will myself not to cry by lifting my head towards the dusk sky. I hug myself tightly, close my eyes, and breathe deeply as I fight with myself. But I never was a fighter, and the tears start to leak through my tightly shut eyelids. The slow breathing soothes me though—as much as I can be soothed, at least, which isn't much.

Although I have never been religious, I decide that if there's ever a perfect time to pray, it's now. "God," I think. "Please save my mother!" The tears start to drip faster, now that I am praying to the Creator, any Creator. Just so He doesn't Destroy my mom's life.

My eyes drift towards the parking lot of the hospital, which is right in front of the "garden". My breath stops in my throat. A silver cat sits in the middle of the road washing himself, barely visible against the darkened cement, while a car creeps towards him. The car is only a yard or two away. The driver is on her phone, not noticing the shadowed cat before her.

That cat will die because of a stupid mistake.

I can't look, but I can't bear to look away. I watch as the naïve driver is about to run over the cat, and I scream. With that screech, the cat yowls and runs off.

I know it's unfair of me, because after all, it's just a cat, but my immediate reaction is anger. "Not fair," I think. "Not. FAIR! That cat should have died!" Rage and jealousy boil in my veins. "So it's true that cats have nine lives," I think. "And one life for that cat has just been used up."

"Well, why can't my mom just have one more?" I scream to the heavens. "I'm not asking for nine, just one!" Then I'm on my knees, sobbing uncontrollably. There is no hope; my mother is as good as dead. "I'll go to a foster family who will abuse me for the government's money, I'll grow up messed up and scarred, and I'll overall be ruined. There's no hope."

When my tears are spent, I get up. I know my face is red, teary, and altogether un-presentable, but I need to give my mother a last goodbye. As I walk towards the hospital's front doors, I see the cat again.  But instead of running off as cats do, he walks over to me. He stares at me for a second, and I realize something: This cat can five my mom another life—but it would have to be mine.

I am ready to agree to this contract when I realize something else: my mom would have to live with the fact that her only child had died for her. And her health problems might kill her young anyways, so my sacrifice would be in vain.

I take a deep breath and say the word my mother would want me to say: "No."

That cat makes a slight movement that might be perceived as a nod, then leaves.

I run through the hospital doors and up one flight of cold, white steps, making it to my mother's bedside in less than two minutes. She looks into my eyes. "Thank you," she says in a frail voice, barely audible. "I love you." I know the thank you is for everything, including the NO. Then all the machines slowly pause: pulse, heart rate, blood pumps per second…it all quiets down as my mother goes upwards.

I cry quietly as I feel her hand grow cold. "I sentenced Mom to death," I think. But I know she wanted it, and in return I need to live a full life.

It's what my mother wanted.