"Broken Glass" by Joshua K

The day is November 9th of 2018. Bright, luming rays of sunshine come through my
windows as I lie in bed, not yet awoken to begin the day. For a brief moment, when I open my eyes, the bliss of such a beautiful day overshadows the journey ahead. In that moment, I merely acknowledge my surroundings and feel the blessings of another day. 

Following a long and contemplative shower, I embark on my journey. Phone calls are coming in left and right. I, myself, take the liberty of answering every single one so that my sister does not endure the hardships of such conversation. “What happened?” , “I can’t believe it!” , “Just a week ago we had a conversation...”. Disbelief and misunderstanding fills my ears for hours as I call aunts, cousins, friends. All these people without a clue of what had just happened or why. The day before, my mother, April Kidwell, had lost her life to the effects of poor decisions. 

These people did not see nor hear any of the hardship I had endured. They merely “sympathize” and move on. These people were not around when the mountain lions were on the roof. These people were not around when there were ghosts in the house. These people were not around when we almost drove off of the freeway because she was so heavily intoxicated. These people did not live the life I had. If they had just known or seen the pain and suffering she had endured, we all may have made a difference. If I could’ve been the son she needed, maybe she would’ve stopped living so fast. 
 Although, then again, one must not live off of what-ifs. 

From birth to the moment my mom’s heart no longer beat, I was there. Feeling the heat leave from the body of somebody you once loved is undescribable. All the moments and memories ever created with that person remain but the toll of the loss is immense. Unfortunately, as I have begun to find out, even the memories do not always reside positively. Frequent nightmares of the breathing machines and heart monitors continue to haunt me. Once during class I had even heard a noise similar to the machines which led me closely towards a panic attack. They say “bad memories fade”, but they are still, to this day, prevalent. 

Growing up, Mom was the one who taught me habits for school that I still use to this day. I remember her quizzing me with flashcards for multiplication. Cigarette in one hand and flash card in the other. To many, the thought of cigarettes around children is horrendous, but my mom was always avoiding when she could. After all, a nicotine addiction does need its fill regardless of situation. Among the use of cigarettes throughout my life, Mom fell upon many other substances for a crutch. 

Methamphetamine, vicodin, and alcohol all played a role in her declining state. Although beating both the meth and the vicodin with rehabilitation, alcohol became her eventual demise. Of all her poisonous habits, she still had the biggest heart of anybody you would ever know. I recall once her giving a new friend $600 to borrow for a “head start”. Although I warned her of bad intentions, her heart and willingness to believe in others overshadowed her fear of loss. As I feared, my mother never saw that money again. 

Today and everyday forward, I think of my mom. From time to time I look at a picture of me and my parents before the divorce and downward spiral. My mom has her arms around her little boy, protecting him as she always had. I smile and think of the good times we both shared. The jokes, cooking, even the TV shows we shared in watching all fill my mind. I am grateful she

gave the time to her children and gave all she could for her children. The harsh reality I had to face occurred to me in a church at the hospital. My uncle, Mom’s brother Wade, said to me “she hasn’t been happy for a long time”. In that moment above all else, the reality of the situation set in. I knew it was time. 

My sister, the next of kin to my mother, was the sole bearer of the decision to metaphorically “pull the plug”. Me, Brianna (my sister), and my Mom’s boyfriend at the time (Jason), all decided it was the right thing to do. Mom had been on what they call “all means necessary” treatment. She was maxed out on medication, breathing tube treatment, everything. The doctor, whom I disliked very much, had given us one alternative which would be a temporary fix with an extremely high risk of bleeding out. Even if she had survived, she would’ve been disabled for the rest of her life. With disability in mind and the ass-kicking that would ensue if she were to survive in such a manner, we knew Mom’s decision and took action. They removed the medication and turned off the heart monitor noise so as not to cause more trauma. We all watched her rate drop. From 100, to 70, to 50, the process was depressing and very extensive. There was by no means a rush for Mom to pass but the slow decline was by far much worse than any movie has ever depicted. There is no mere plug pull. There is no immediate death. There is just a long, solemn line that gets closer, and closer to flattening. When the nurse came in and declared Mom dead, tears rang out from almost all whom encompassed the room. The only two not crying were me and Brianna. Not because we were not sad or because we did not care, but rather we were relieved for Mom to finally be at peace. We knew that the declaration of death meant Mom had begun her new chapter in Heaven. Regardless of what religion you may believe

in, a hope for something greater is a necessity in my eyes. Without hope, there is no reason to push forward. Without moving forward, there is no hope.