Pitcher's Baby (20 page)

I pull the book out, dragging out an
envelope with it. It's one of Mom's letters to me. The most recent one, with
the drawing of a wolf across the back. I shove it back inside. Seeing it
reminds me of the annoying, stuck up bitch I was just a few short weeks ago,
solely focused on myself and how much I hurt. I'm amazed how much of a
difference I see in myself. Oftentimes, I think our own perception of ourselves
is the hardest to adjust to, but I could see the changes. I was happier, more
open and bright.

Gone was the stale, stagnant shell of a
being, the lost, confused child hiding behind the image of a well put-together
adult. I think I have both Lucas and my mother to thank for the change in
myself. Lucas has shown me how to love and forgive, regardless of one's own
past, and how to let everything I never had any control over go. My mother
showed me that people can, in fact, change. It's never too late, and she gave
me the chance to practice my newly found forgiveness. I’m far from normal, but
at least I know I’m on the right track.

I think about making an excuse and taking
my purse and the hidden letter to the bathroom for some privacy, but quickly
squash the idea. My brother is the one who tucked it in there, so I know he
would see straight through me, and Lucas . . . well, I need his strong presence
there to catch me when I start to fall—the way he has been since the beginning.
I take my Venti coffee from my brother and pull the letter back out, carefully tearing
into the envelope.

It’s now or never.

Charlee,

There is no pleasant way
to say this, so I'll just spit it out and move on. I am dying. Stage 5 kidney
failure. It's been a long, hard battle since I was first diagnosed eleven years
ago, two weeks after being sentenced to prison. I have fought hard. I have
given it all I have, but now I'm out of options. I quit dialysis this week. I
had no choice. It was causing an infection in my body, an infection my poor
immune system just can't fight. I’ll be released in less than a week.
Apparently, a death sentence from God carries a lot of weight in parole
hearings.

I know it's been years
since we talked last, and by now, you probably don't think much of me or don't
want a thing to do with me at all, and I truly, truly understand that. Your
short time with me was one horrible experience right after another. I know that
now. It took a while for me to realize that I wasn't good for you. I'm still
not. I'm selfish and only care about myself. Even right now, as I write this
letter asking you to let me come see you, I am being selfish.

There have been so many
times that I've wanted to say this to you, even in person, but I haven't had
the guts to know how yet, so I'm going to start here, in case I never get the
chance to see you or speak with you again.

I'm really sorry I
couldn't be there for you. I'm sorry I wasn't there to talk to you when I
should have been. I'm sorry I left you alone for so long, and I'm sorry I
wasn't able enough to tell you straight forward how much I loved you when I had
the chance. But most of all, I'm sorry I couldn't make more of an effort to let
you know I cared more than I've shown you.

You meant a lot more to
me than I was able to openly express, and although it may be too late to prove
it to you now, I will always love you, Charlee. I wish I had enough time left
on this earth to show how much, but God works in his own time, not ours, and
because of that, I will be leaving you again soon—this time for good. In my
mind, I know I should just let you be and leave you alone to live your life
without ever having to hear from me again, but my heart won't allow that.

I'm not sure if you'll
ever read this letter or if you have read any of the fifty that came before it.
It doesn't matter now, but on the off chance that your curiosity gets the best
of you and you decide to rip this thing open, I want you to know if I ever made
you feel ignored or unimportant, that was never my intention at all, and that
I'm sorry for coming off so passive-aggressive. The truth is that I doubted
myself. I doubted my ability to be a good mother, to love you and Matt the way
you deserved to be loved. Fully. Completely. Selflessly.

You have no idea how badly
I really want to be there with you, but at the same time, I don't know if
you're ready yet. When I first got word of my release, I was ecstatic. All I
could think was THANK GOD, even if I’m only being let out to die in peace. That
didn't matter to me. I was finally going to get to see my babies, but it's been
eleven years, and you're grown now. You have your own life, and I doubt you
want your selfish mother back in your life.

In my state of mind, I
was so uncertain of myself. I felt like I couldn't hold together a relationship,
and I wasn't sure If you actually wanted a relationship with me either. Then
you figure in the sickness, and I really started to doubt things. How cruel is
it for me to show up requesting a relationship with you after eleven years and
then DIE? You don't have to answer that. I know, but again, I'm selfish, so
this is me asking you, just like I asked your brothers and your father.

Can I come home?

If you reply to this and
tell me HELL NO! Then I promise, Charlee, I will respect your wishes. I won't
push myself on you, but on the small, tiny off chance that you don't care, that
you actually want to see me as much as much as I want to see you, then I'll see
you soon, baby.

I can't wait. My fingers
are crossed, anxiously awaiting your reply.

Love always and forever,

Mom

I don't cry while reading it. I don't shed
a tear after I'm done. I refuse. I hold every bit of it inside of me, locked
away tight until I'm able to talk to her again, then I'll let it all out. I'll
yell and cry and laugh when I can do it with her. I pass my letter to Lucas and
let him read through it while I sip on my coffee and wait and wait some more.

It's while I'm waiting that a thought
strikes me. I turn to Aaron, and for the first time, I see him in a new light.
I see his actions over the last few months and how I thought he had chosen to
forgive her for his own reasons, but now I realize it had more to do with what
she needed. He knew she was dying, and the one thing she needed from him was
his forgiveness—and maybe even his love.

“You knew? This whole time, you knew and
you didn't say a word to me. Why?” I accuse him.

“Simple. She asked me not to. It was
obvious you didn't read the letter. Matt and I replied. I had actually been
talking to her for several years now. Every time she wrote you a letter, she
wrote me too. I replied. When you came in that first night and reacted the way
you did, she knew you were still angry . . . still hurt. She wanted to leave
right then, but I refused to let her. She agreed as long as I didn't tell you
about the disease. She didn't want you to pretend to love her just because you
knew she was dying. I agreed, and I know it was hard on you, but I'm glad we
did it that way.”

“How can you say that? If you had told me,
then I could have been there more for her. I could have been nicer! Spent more
time with her! Now what does she have? What did keeping that secret give her?”

“It gave her your genuine forgiveness and
love. She can honestly leave this earth now knowing that you loved her, not
because she was dying and it was the right thing to do, but because you were
given the time to search inside of yourself and find that tiny part of you that
wasn't destroyed thirteen years ago. You were able to truly love her, Charlee,
because she is your mother and you are her daughter, and that is what little
girls do. They love their mommies, even when those moms have hurt them and
broken their hearts. They forgive and they love, because that's all they know
how to do.”

“You should have told me.” I sob into my
hands, choking on the pain in my throat.

“Believe that if you want, but if asked to
do it again, I'd do it the same way.”

I know he's right, and if I search past
the betrayal and heart wrenching pain, I can be thankful for him not telling
me, but right now, all I feel is hurt. I feel like I’ve been lied to every day
for the last three months. Day in and day out, they both made a conscious
decision to not tell me the truth. What if I hadn't forgiven her? What if I had
held onto my pain and hurt and I hadn't given her a chance? She would still be
in that room right now. She would still be dying, and I would feel even worse,
because I had never known she was dying.

I'm not sure how much time has passed
since we first walked in those sliding glass doors at the emergency room
entrance, but if my ass is any judge of passing time, the ache it feels means
it's been at least twelve hours. Glancing at the clock, I'm surprised to see
it's just after four, meaning it's been fewer than two. I'm about to stand and
hound the nurses’ station for more information when I see the doctor walking
out.

“Leming family?” he calls to the waiting
area. I raise my hand and stand, followed by Lucas and Aaron.

“What's the relationship?” He asks, and I
almost find it comical that he is concerned over something as meaningless as
our relationship until I remember the HIPAA pamphlet I read six times front to
back while I waited.

“I’m her daughter. This is my brother and
my boyfriend. What can you tell us about my mother?”

“Well, Miss . . .?”

“Cooper,” I supply.

“Miss Cooper. Your mother's blood sugar
count was 1426 when she came in. Normal range for your blood sugar is usually
between 120 and 180. As you can see, hers was dangerously high. We have
administered her some short-acting insulin to bring it down, but so far, it's
not helping. She’s still in the high 900s. In addition to this, her blood
pressure is 286/220. This is stroke level, so we are giving her medicine to
bring it down as well as monitoring her for signs of a stroke.”

“Can we see her?” I ask.

“You can see her, but I feel obligated to
warn you that the sight you will see is extreme. She is in a coma, and we have
had to ventilate her because she was no longer breathing on her own. I have
ordered a full workup on her, and at the moment, we are waiting on blood tests
to come back before we know more.”

“Ok. I understand.”

And I do.

My mother is dying.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Lucas

The ache in her eyes is almost too much.
Nothing I can do can change what's happened. A piece of her heart is now gone,
and there is really no coming back from that. Sure, I can make her smile or
laugh, but it’s fleeting.

"Charlee. I don't know what to say. I
don't know how to make this better, and it’s killing me."

"There's really nothing more you can
do. Being here with me in this moment is enough." I hug her tightly to me,
afraid if I let go, she'll disappear.

"Anything. I'll do anything. Just say
the words, and it’s done."

"Just hold me. That's all I
need." I nod and kiss the top of her head as I feel her tears dampen my
shirt.

“I need to call Coach Matherson. I'm not
slated to pitch, so being here with you for the funeral and all shouldn't be a
problem. I'll be back in two shakes." She nods and sits on the couch,
wrapping a blanket around her.

I step out onto the porch, and the hot air
is almost suffocating. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I breathe deeply and
dial Coach's number.

“Hello?”

“Hey Coach.”

“Well hey, son. Is everything all right?”

“No, sir. It’s not. Aaron’s mother passed
away, and since I’m not in rotation, I was hoping I could get a pass.”

“Well damn. Hate to hear that. Absolutely,
you need to be there for family. They need you more than we do right now.”

“Thanks, sir. I owe ya.”

“Nah. Just get it all handled and get back
to me as soon as possible.”

“Yes sir.”

I slide my phone back into my pocket and
lean against one of the cold brick columns out front for a moment, attempting
to gather my thoughts before I rejoin Charlee. It’s tearing me to pieces to see
her hurting. I know it’s all part of the normal grieving process, but I can
feel her withering away, like her soul barely has a hold on this side of
humanity and the next gust of wind will give her the push she needs to fly
away.

I don’t want to see her go. I don’t know
how I’ll ever be able to live without her. I was doing fine, existing in this
shallow world, before she came along, and now I know I’ll never be able to go
back to simply existing. I need her and I need Everly. They are the closest
thing to a family I have had in many, many years, and I’ll be damned if I let
death cheat me out of my happily ever after.

After Cole died, I lost a part of myself,
and I’m no fool. I know that I’ll gain that part of myself again, but the time
I have spent loving Everly has shown me that not every part of me died that
day. I am still alive, and I have a lot of love to give. I have to hold on to
the belief that everything in life happens for a reason, and if that is true,
then I lost my son, my sweet, amazing son, so that I could be here for when
those two girls needed me the most.

Now.

Opening
the front door, I take one more deep breath, and then I walk down the hall to
the woman of my dreams and my belle fille.