COST OF LOVE

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The machines in the ICU room made everything real. Here we were again. I thought I had already gotten over this fear during COVID. Last year, her heart had not been working right. She had known it and was ready to die. But I was not ready then or now. That scare alone had taught me how fast I could lose everything. I sat there watching her sleep. I was not ready to tell her that I loved her for the last time. I told myself I could do it. I could fix her again.

“I want to go home,” the woman said.

She had been like a mother to me for my whole life. I looked up, and for the first time in days, our eyes met.

“What, what are you talking about?”

It was an unusually hot and rainy July day in Virginia, but inside the room, a chill settled deep into my bones. Goosebumps began to rise along my arms.

“Tell them to discharge me so I can go home,” my grandmother, who I call Mom, said.

My hands began to shake, my chest tightening, but I had to stand firm.

“I can’t Mom. They need to find out what is wrong with you.”

“I am fine. Take me home now,” she said. Her stern eyes fixing me to my seat. It was like I was eight again and I had done something wrong.

“I need you to get better,” I said. “If not for me, do it for the kids.”

My eyes dropped to her arms, and the soft restraints keeping her from grabbing anything above her elbows. She had pulled out her IV and feeding tube, and the evidence of blood, stained the bed sheets. This wasn’t the woman who had raised me as her own. This was someone I did not recognize.

“You don’t love me,” she said.

White noise filled my ears, and the room began to close in on me.

“What, what did you say?” I asked, hoping I hadn’t heard correctly.

We had been through everything together. The loss of her husband and the death of her son, my father. I had stayed by her side when everyone else was gone. I was her helper; she had called me her walking cane. I had been there through the pain, taking every harsh criticism she lashed out in anger. That was love, right? Staying even when your feelings hurt. Giving up everything because the person you love said so. I had always done what she asked, giving in even when I didn’t want to. Surely, she did not mean what she was saying.

“You don’t love me. That’s why you will not tell them to let me go home,” she said, her eyes locked on to mine.

I could taste the mucus in my throat before I felt the burning of unshed tears at the corners of my eyes.

“I do love you. I am doing this because I love you,” I said, reaching for her hand. My hand landed with a soft thud. She had pulled away from me, and it felt like she had pulled away her love also.

“Call James. He’ll come get me and do what I tell him to do. He loves me, unlike you.”

I couldn’t stop the sob that escaped as I stood up and began to pace. James, the cousin who had picked on me all my life. Who constantly reminded me that I did not belong in this family. Of all people, that was who she wanted me to call. She always knew exactly what to say to cause the most pain.

“No. I need you to get well for the kids,” I said, trying to find some footing in this fight. “I don’t want my kids coming into your room to tell you good morning and find you— “.

My voice trembled. My vision going blurry as the tears ran freely. I pictured my son bringing in her coffee one morning and finding her dead. That image was what made giving in to her demands to go home worse. It felt like I was losing my father all over again. My lungs stopped working, and it was hard to breathe.

Oh lord, give me strength to get her back to her right mind.

“Sing me a song then,” she said.

“What?” I looked at her.

“If you love me, then sing me a song,”

In that moment, I knew I had to sing. Because that was who I was, the entertainer, there to make everyone happy. I would prove my undying love. Deep down, I was hurting and she knew it. But actions speak louder than words, and I would do anything for her love. Taking a deep breath, I started with the first song that came to mind.

“One day when I was lost, He died on the cross, I know it was the blood that saved me…”

I sang and sang that afternoon away. She clapped her hands and tried to sing along.

I didn’t know it then, but it would be the last performance I would give her. The last time we would have a conversation. The last time I would hear her voice. The last time I would hear her rings make that clicking sound as she talked, because she always used her hands. The last time I would give up everything to take care of her.

Because that’s what she taught me.

That love was doing things that made others happy while ignoring your own emotions. That being the sacrifice was the only way to keep people, that you love, in your life. It had cost me my youth and self-esteem. Without her I was lost, just a kid trying to find my way without my guiding light. In the end I had to relearn what love meant to me.

So let me ask you, reader:

What have you sacrificed for the ones you love?

Cherrelle Mack is a creative writing student at Full Sail University. She was born and raised in a small town in Virginia. When she is not writing she enjoys reading and spending time in nature.