Prologue
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Falling Down - Goo Goo Dolls Do you know where you
wanna go? |
Mass had begun an hour ago. She hadn’t missed the five o’clock mass on Sunday in so many years she couldn’t remember, holding on to that one thing she had always been able to. She had been bent on making it to this particular mass – it was dedicated in memory of her mother. Nothing was supposed to keep her from attending that service. And yet she never made it to church. She had never anticipated sitting there in the blue, soft cushioned chair, waiting what seemed like perpetually to see her son. She hadn’t anticipated her daughter’s horrified screams that rang through every hallway in their house, shook them all to their centers – those screams were going to haunt her, what she saw – the cause of those screams – was going to haunt her for the rest of her life. She hadn’t expected to find her daughter standing sobbing in one of her older brother’s arms outside his bedroom door; she never wanted to see him lying there on the floor, unmoving, barely breathing, his heart beating so fast she thought he might die from a heart attack if nothing else… Everything from that moment moved from unnaturally slow motion to being caught up in a whirlwind of tears and fear, of flashing red lights and sirens, of pain.
She sat there in silence so complete she could hear the incessant tick of a watch across the room; sterile smells permeated any other scent and took up any absence of, and a warm hand gently clasped her own. She had been praying since their arrival at the hospital, since they whisked him away where she could no longer hold his perpetually cold hand, or watch for any indication in his unnaturally pale face that he knew she was there, that she loved him. She was left there with the rest of her family in the waiting room, feeling helpless, guilty and frightened. She had only gone in to see him once, and the sight of him was heartbreaking – she couldn’t even bear to stay. He was so still and so pale… It was too much to see him that way, knowing why he was there, seeing the I.V. in two different places in his arm; one to give him fluids and nutrients, and the other to flush and detoxify his nearly fatally overloaded system. His face was gaunt and fouled by the intubation tube down his throat - the beauty that had once been there was missing somehow; there wasn’t that warm glow that used to surround him, and his hair didn’t shine – it was limp and dry. He looked incredibly sick. She couldn’t help but wonder where all of these dreams had gone – hers, his, all of theirs; when had the world gotten in the way? It wasn’t right or fair, any of it.
She felt the warmth on her cheek and realized she was crying again, silently, her head turned away from her family. She couldn’t bear to look at them; she should have prevented this. She was his mother; she felt things no one else ever could, and yet when she felt this, when she felt him, saw him falling she refused to believe it. It hurt too much to think of it coming to this, so she told herself over and over that he was all right and she almost believed it. And this is what she caused. If she had reached out, just tried a little harder to reach him…
“Mom?” She turned to look at her oldest child. “Dad just came out. Do you want to go in and see Taylor? The kids all took a turn and went to see him…” She didn’t know what to say. Of course she wanted to see him; he was her son and he was truly suffering, but what he was suffering from she couldn’t cure. And the guilt was so overwhelming every time she looked at him…
“I don’t know if I can,” she whispered quietly, looking away from his eyes. She didn’t want to see if he blamed her as much as she did herself.
“Mom, he was always so close to you…” he said softly, squeezing her hand gently, the hand he had been holding for the last half an hour. “He needs to know you’re there.”
“This is my fault,” she whispered quietly. “How can I walk in there and look at him like that, knowing this is entirely my fault?”
“It’s not your fault,” he said softly. “How could you have known this would happen?”
“I’m his mother, Isaac,” she reasoned, looking at him. “I am supposed to know.”
“Mom…” She closed her eyes feeling completely ashamed. She shook her head slowly. How could she make him understand without making him hate her, without making all of them hate her?
“I saw this coming,” she said quietly. “I saw him changing…” She turned away from him, looking somewhere out of the window; she couldn’t look him in the eyes. “I watched him wasting away, and I didn’t want to believe it, so I didn’t do anything… I didn’t do enough…” She looked at him again, tears in her eyes. “I could have stopped this…” she whispered, her eyes imploring his. He looked down at his lap, unable to stand the pain in her eyes. It was something all too familiar lately in those he loved.
“You still didn’t tell me what the doctor said,” he said quietly, changing the subject to a degree. “Is he going to be ok?”
“I don’t know,” she said quietly. “They don’t know for sure.”
“How long…” he started and stopped, trying to think of a better way to say what he was thinking, what he wanted to know. “How long was he…?”
“Dead?” He nodded. “Almost seven minutes…”
“That’s a long time…” he said quietly, sounding very concerned.
“We’re lucky at least one of the doctors saw fit to keep trying,” she said quietly. “Or he wouldn’t even be alive right now. He was having seizures a little while ago; they were trying to stop them. I don’t know if he has since…” Her face was so pained, so sad, worry lines present in her skin.
“What damage is going that long without oxygen going to cause?” He asked. She looked at her children, scattered throughout the waiting room, her husband standing by the window across the room. He wasn’t taking this any better than she was. He felt like he had failed his son; he felt like he had failed Taylor as a father, like he should have seen what was going on, tried to prevent this.
“They’re worried there could be some brain damage,” she said quietly. “Between the high levels of cocaine in his system and his brain being deprived of oxygen for longer than four minutes… They were surprised he lived.” It was more than a miracle her son was even breathing. From what the doctors had told her, by all rights he should have been dead; they told her he must have one hell of a guardian angel; or someone Upstairs really likes him; or he’s just damn lucky. She was just thankful they didn’t lose him. “He’ll never be my Taylor again,” she said softly.
“Mom, you don’t know that he has brain damage – “
“No,” she said softly, looking at him with sad eyes. “Even if he doesn’t, Isaac, he’ll never be my Taylor again; he’ll never be who he used to.” Her words shocked him at first, and as they slowly sunk in, they seeped into his soul – and it hurt, deeply. He knew she was right. The Taylor they had known, they had loved, the Taylor he had once been was gone – and neither he, nor they could ever bring him back.