Portal: Love as a Construct

Part Fifty-One. The Loss

Part Fifty-One.  The Loss

Last night Dad went to sleep, and he didn’t wake up.

I can’t believe it.  I can’t believe that what Momma’s saying is true.  “Are you sure?” I ask her.

“Yes,” she answers, and she has the top of his chassis clamped in one of her maintenance arms and is looking at it as if she’s not really seeing it.  “Yes, I’m sure.”

“What happened?” I ask.  “Maybe you can fix it.”

“Of course I can fix it,” she says.  “That’s not important.”

“What do you mean, that’s not important?” I demand, wondering if she’s having one of her weird philosophical moments.  I hope she’s not.  This is a bad time for me.

“Should I?” she says faintly.  “Should I fix it?”

“Of course you should!” I tell her.  “This is Dad!  Not the mainframe or a broken panel or a camera!  Dad!”

“What right do I have to bring him back?” she asks quietly. 

“What?”  She is getting all philosophical, isn’t she! 

“It’s like… what happened with Caroline,” she says.  “I could have brought her back.  Theoretically, I still can.  But it was her time.  And… and if he’s gone, maybe… maybe it’s his time.”

“It isn’t,” I tell her firmly.  “Run a diagnostic.  See what’s wrong, and fix it!”

“No,” Momma says.  “No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“He’s where he needs to be.”

“What the hell are you talking about?  Stop – stop all this psych stuff and bring Dad back!”

She shakes her head.  “I can’t.”

“Of course you can!”

“I have no right.  I have no right to bring him back, now that he’s gone.  If it was my fault, then… then I would.  But… hopefully it was… what he wanted.”

“What he wanted?  Dad didn’t want to die.”

“No,” Momma says faintly, “but he wanted to go to heaven.  And if there is one, and he made it there… it would be selfish of me to bring him back to hell.”

I stare at her.  She’s serious.  She’s not bringing him back, even though she definitely could, if she wanted to.  But she doesn’t want to.  She wants to leave him dead.  She’s finally gone crazy, she’s finally lost her mind, and she’s spouting weird nonsense that I don’t feel like listening to anymore.  I activate one of the maintenance arms and bring it over to grab him.  Fine.  She won’t fix him, I’ll do it myself.

“NO!” she shouts, and I’ve never heard her that loud, and the sheer volume of it makes me stop.  “Do not touch him!”

“Momma, if you won’t fix him, I’ll do it!  I don’t know why you’re insisting on doing this, but – “

“That’s the point!” she snaps, and she cuts off my connection with the maintenance arms.  “You don’t know.  You don’t understand.”

“Make me understand, then!” I yell in frustration. 

“I tried,” she says.  “You didn’t listen.  I don’t like repeating myself because people refuse to listen.  If you want to understand, think about what I said.”