Wishing Star

True story, written quite a while back. Sad.

 I stretched on the morning of my birthday. Finally sixteen - no longer a child! I would be driving myself to school soon enough. And soon enough, I would be eighteen. I could not only drive myself to school but I could drive far, far away from this cold, brown apartment. My mother would be a good bit better by then. She and I could both forget the noise of that oxygen generator and throw out the tubes she hated so much to wear on her face. She could be the same mother she had been four years ago before her lung collapsed. 

I Waved goodbye to my mother that morning after fixing her something to eat- she was so underweight - and got on the bus. It was going to be a good day. I wasn’t going to worry about my mother or my living situation. I wasn’t going to worry about the messy apartment or what all could go wrong. I arrive at school to greet a few friends with hugs and the occasional “happy birthday, Jessi!”. I smiled and re-applied my eyeliner before every class. I had pizza at lunch. It was a perfect day.

At home, my father came over and gave me my presents. 

“You’re all grown up,” my mother said. She looked small and feeble on the green couch she rarely ever left. Her bushy black hair surrounded her. I shot a sideways glance into the mirror at my own short, straight, blonde hair and muscular frame and wondered if I could ever be so courageous as my mother - fighting emphysema and raising a teenager all at once. I received an i-Pod nano and went back into my room. 

It was a perfect day until I tripped over the cord of my mothers oxygen machine and caused it to malfunction. I called my father, crying as he screamed at me and my mother sat on the toilet, gasping for air. I was helpless. She was helpless.

I spent two hours crying loudly on the phone to a friend. So much stress - so little coping ability. I could always make more scars, couldn't I?

In the morning, someone came and replaced the machine. Everything was dandy when I came home and planned for my party the next day.

The party went fantastic. My mother sat in the car with her sister and watched us all as we played by the river that night. It was so perfect except for that I looked fat in my tank top. 

“Put a jacket on, Jess!” she screamed.

“I’m not cold, Momma! I’m sweating, even.” 

“I’m not arguing!” I ignored her. I didn’t need a jacket.

The party went great. The rest of the weekend was great. My mother was fine, I was fine, but Monday I noticed my mother sleeping too much. 

Tuesday morning, five days after my birthday, I woke up. I was tired and depressed at 5:40 in the morning, so I went into the living room to talk my mother into letting me stay home.

“I think I need help,” she said. My stomach jumped.

“You need an ambulance?”

“I think so.”        I went into my room and dial 9-1-1 on my cell phone. An ambulance was on its way. I called my boyfriend and told him what was going on - I didn’t cry. 

The ambulance arrived. They looked in disgust at the apartment. 

“Be careful putting her on the stretcher,” I said. “She’s underweight.” They ignored me.

“Call your daddy,” my mother said as she was placed on the stretcher.

“Okay,” I said, I turned around and went back into my room, and obeyed my mothers last request.

At the hospital my father and I - who never did get along - discussed the possible reasons she needed help. I felt sick and worried, but was sure that it was only due to the slight cold she had developed over the past few weeks. Then they moved us into the family room. This had never happened in the past time she’d been hospitalized. New procedure, of course?

Two nurses came in and began to explain. They used multiple large words that I wouldn’t have been able to hear if I could understand them in the first place - I began to cry. 

“What happened?!” my father screamed. The doctor looked at me.

“She’s gone.” I immediately began shaking. I could feel my bowels giving out. My mouth was dry. My mother - gone?

“We need you to calm down so we can explain.” It was surprisingly easy to stop crying.  I was in a stupor.

“What the f**k do you want to explain?”I asked. 

I stood on the hallway as the rest of the family arrived. It was a blur - they all pretended to care so much. I needed someone to talk to. My first reaction was to dial my mothers number - bad idea.

“Jessi!” my boyfriend called from the hospital door. He hugged me. All I could do was shake my head... 

The worst part was seeing her dead, yellow body on the stretcher. She was fifty-seven but she looked so young. My boyfriend stood with me, cried with me. My aunt handed me the Star of David my mother had been wearing and I squeezed them tightly. 

My worst fear had come true like I had wished for it on this Star.

Author's Note

I wrote it a few years ago, soon after this actually happened, so forgive any bad grammar.