door , watching for footsteps . I fell asleep staring at his amethyst earring , backless , with the gold post turned upward like a spike .
~
The day my mom dies , there are a thousand cherry blossom petals stuck to her hospital room window . She has the room to herself , a last bone of pity thrown by her doctor . She has been in this hospital once a year for the past five years , and each time I think she ’ s going to die . Now it ’ s actually happening , and I can ’ t get myself to feel a damned thing .
There ’ s no respirator , no heart monitor like last time . Just a morphine drip plugged into her like a cellphone charger , an input cable . A catheter bag hangs just below her bed , half-full of amber liquid . Output .
Jenn is pissing me off , fussing over her , taking the sponge-stick of water and forcing it into her mouth . We all know why we ’ re here , the doctor has told us about her brain aneurysm , and at this point she can ’ t even hear us . All we can do is wring our hands as her organs shut down one by one , like lights down the hallway of a closing building . If our souls leave us when we die , she left early , pulling herself from her alcohol-ravaged body and running to freedom .
This 8 th -floor room gives a perfect view of the cemetery across the street . I curse the city planner who made that decision as I watch a steady rain beat down on the mossy gravestones . As soon as the thought pops into my head , I try to stop thinking about the water dripping into their caskets , but the image of their bodies molding like old , wet cheese will stick in my head for the rest of the day . Her body is so damaged by years of drinking and smoking and getting the shit beat out of her , it seems like one good rain will wash the flesh off her bones completely , and who will she be , then ?
I go to work , because watching her die is killing me . Before I go , Jenn shoves a bracelet that the EMT took off my mom ’ s wrist onto mine , and I kiss her one last time . “ Bye , Mommy ,” I say . It ’ s the only time I ’ ve called her that — I figure she deserves to hear it once . I squeeze her hand before I leave , and for the first time in my life it ’ s cold instead of hot , dry instead of moist . Coming here was pointless , I think . She ’ s been dead for years . I don ’ t fall asleep until 2:19 a . m . The coroner ’ s report puts her time of death at 2:15 a . m ., and I try to tell myself that it means something , but I ’ m too logical to really believe it .
I hate everything about the funeral . I hate that it ’ s a monsignor , and not a real priest , I hate that only half of her siblings show up . I hate that her boyfriend brings a “ friend ” who is clearly a hooker , and that he is drunk when we bury her .
9