Just Jack

Part Two: Chapter Twenty-Four: Just the Beginning

Chapter Twenty-Four

Just the Beginning

     Conclusion: The end or finish of an event or process.

     They say that there are three types of people in this world that you will come across in your lifetime. Some leave us as fast as they came in, fulfilling a single, sole purpose in their time. Others will show up for, maybe a season but definitely a reason – to simply teach us by sharing their experiences. Then there are the ones who arrive, by fate some would say, who stick with you for a lifetime. These are your family, your friends, your persons. Your meant-to-be's, support systems. These select few will endure eternity with you, for you. They'll never leave you. And even when they do leave, they're never really gone.

     The bird in the attic was never invited. He came into our home and changed the way things worked. The bird in the attic kept me awake all morning, even some nights too. He was a creature that I could never get rid of, a tumor belonging to our home. He wasn't part of the family, he was never expected. His arrival was definitely not a welcome one. But birds, well birds will find their way into attics. And birds will keep you awake at night. This morning though, the bird in the attic died. Turns out he could never find his way out, back to his nest. The uninvited home-wrecker died just like my mother.

     I'm trying to remember how it felt to hold her hand. I'm sitting on the side of my bed, gazing at a photo of her and my father in their youth, and it's like I'm already struggling to figure out what her touch felt like or how she smelt. Or how her lip pursed a few times when she was proud of you. I know eventually I will remember almost every little detail that made my mom, well my mom. But for the life of me, I can't remember these things right now. It was like this when my dad died too. Now though, I can recall his scent as if I am inhaling it myself.

     If there was a silver lining that one was searching very hard to find, you could say that it was in the fact that we were all by her side when it happened and that no, she didn't suffer – according to the nurse on standby. She held my hand, not three days ago now, and it wasn't like all of the other hand-holding moments. This one was different. Physically, her hand was cold to touch. It was as if she were dead already. Marble-like. Emotionally, it was a moment I will come to cherish forever. Her holding my hand brought me back to my childhood when we would take long drives together and randomly, she would take hold of my loose hand. And it wasn't awkward or anything, it was just nice. And I felt safe.

     “Do you remember when you smashed all of the mirrors, Jack?” She had asked me, moments before she took her final breath on this earth. I had nodded, using all of my will power not to cry. To cry at that moment, would have given Sammy permission to cry and I didn't want moms last moments to be used up with crying. She squeezed my hand in hers. “You were so angry, so distraught,” she continued. Her voice – it was like it was straining her whole body to speak. It broke my heart even more to listen to her.

     “But look at you know, Jack. Look at you! My beautiful boy. I ... I am so proud of you.” Even in death, her lips pursed as she managed a slight smile. Pride glistened in her eyes and I couldn't help but allow tears to well up in my own. Her breathing became wheezy and soon, it was her time. I stood up and took hold of Sammy's hand, and mom looked up to the ceiling. And it wasn't like how it is in the movies. There was no slow, violin playing. Keith didn't break down crying and neither did I. We just watched in total silence. Watched as she inhaled and exhaled for the final time and then her eyelids, heavy with death, fell shut. And that was that.