My mom at my 8th birthday party:

I’m so glad I bought my daughter’s DS ahead of time. I told her I wasn’t going to get it for her when she was in trouble and she believed it. Now it is time for her party. I am on my way to the YMCA with Precious in the car and I have all the party decorations packed with us. I decided she’ll have a Hulu themed pool party. Shakira is turning 8. I love her so much. I call one last parent and make sure her classmates are coming. Everything is going according to plan. Trevor is already there with Malachi, the cake and presents. We arrive and we let them swim while we set up the decorations. When they’re done, we set up some chairs and host musical chairs to a new Kidz Bop CD. I brought prizes for the other kids and treats for them to go home with. I like to make a good impression and I want them all to have a good time - especially my daughter. She is sticking with her friend Precious, dancing, and having a great time. I give them cake and then I let her open the presents. I made sure she had a nice display of gifts and her classmates brought some too. Shakira had a bright smile opening her gifts, and she looked adorable in her hula costume. When she opened her D.S., she cried and gave me a hug. She makes everything worth it. I’ll never forget.

I wake up surrounded by people. I look to find a familiar face, finding none I start to panic. “Where am I?”, I ask myself while trying to figure out my surroundings. Beeping and rushing around is all I hear. That’s when I realize, I’m in a hospital. Nurses and doctors fill the room. Running, talking, soothing me as best they can. “What’s all over my face?”, I try to speak but no words come out, just heavy breathing. I reach up and feel my mouth trying to figure out what’s caked on my lips. Blood, dried blood. My tongue aches, my cheek throbs. That’s when I overhear the doctor talking to a familiar voice. It’s my ex-wife and oldest daughter. He’s telling them I’ve had a heart attack and coded in the CAT scan and they had to resuscitate me. “I must have bitten my tongue when it was all going on” I think to myself. I look over and see my oldest walking towards me. Tears quietly streaming down her face. She grabs my hand telling me, “It’s ok dad I’m here”. She sees the blood on my face and yells at someone to clean it up. As I lay there unable to move much besides squeezing her hand, I try to regain the rest of my senses and calm down. It works, but only for a moment. My mind is spinning and suddenly I lose consciousness again. The next thing I know I’m waking up in my own room still in the hospital. I’m able to talk now but half the time I’m so confused I can’t even remember my own name. The other half I’m falling asleep mid-sentence. The doctors come in to talk to me and my ex-wife. They explain to me again what happened down in the er. Then they tell me the big news. I need a new liver as soon as possible but the transplant list is long, very long. I start to cry softly as I realize, I’m on my death bed.

There she goes again, screeching and stumping around like the world is about to end! Does she always have to be this dramatic I thought to myself, as I watched her create an unnecessary scene over what could have been laughed about or brushed off!

Moments like these, are when I consider my life choices and what exactly made me choose to remain friends with someone who always chooses to pick a bone with the little things!

My sister is getting married today. I couldn't be more pissed.

I'm the oldest, I was supposed to be walking down that damn aisle first. But I suppose I'd much rather be the hot Maid of Honor instead of the bride knocked up by some trailer trash redneck.

Jasper was a nice guy. That's it, just nice. I have no idea what Riley saw in him to have invited him into her bed that fateful night just five months ago. He did the right thing, asking her to marry him, that is. I don't think my parents would have ever let him set foot in our picture perfect Catholic home if he hadn't. So he did the right thing. It doesn't make this any easier.

Riley stands behind me, emitting the classic pregnancy glow -- sweat, as most would know it actually is -- but does look beautiful. She chose a vintage flowy dress from the local second hand boutique, its color slightly yellowed with age. Her is hair tied up in an elegant twist. The bump is only a little visible beneath the thin fabric. Just there enough to have people talking, but not visible enough for anyone to be bold enough to comment.

The sun glares down on us with the unbearable humid heat of a classic July in the middle of nowhere Alabama. I'm almost thankful Riley chose this hideous light pink chiffon for her bridesmaids. I would've sweated through the bold colors I normally go for. Nonetheless, the trickle of sweat that cascades down my boobs makes me even angrier.

"Jane, I don't know if I can do this."

I snap out of my jealous funk and look back at Riley. She's gone ghost-white, and tears well up in her eyes.

"What makes you say that?" I ask. Yesterday she was gung ho about marrying the dude. Couldn't shut up about the nursery he had set up in the corner of his trailer home. He was even kind enough to move his liquor collection to a kitchen cupboard just to make space. A true gentleman.

"I don't love him." The tears flow freely down her cheeks. A sob catches in her chest. "I'm marrying him just for her, " she looks down and strokes her belly tenderly.

"I see." I hate to admit that part of me is excited about this turn of events. She really shouldn't be marrying this loser. And she shouldn't be marrying before me. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know."

"Stop crying, first of all." I grab her hands and look her dead in the eyes. "You can do whatever you want to do. You don't have to marry him just because he knocked you up."

"Mama and Papa will throw me out of the house." She laughs hysterically and throws her bouquet of daisies and sunflowers on the ground.

"That's probably true. Which is why you're going to come live with me." I can't even process the words that just came out of my mouth.

"Really? In New York?" Riley's eyes get wide and an new wave of tears well up. "Oh Jane, I can't thank you enough!" She wraps her arms around me and embraces me like her life depends on it.

What have I done.

She came home tonight, but something is off. She usually calls to let me know she’s on her way, tells me what’s for dinner, and reminds me not to be late. But today is different. She looks lost, her makeup streaked down her face. She walks in without a word, passing me as if I’m not even there.

“Mom, what happened?” I yell after her. She pauses briefly, mutters that she needs time alone, and disappears into her room. That was almost a year ago.

Since then, she’s changed in ways I never imagined. Most days, she sits in silence, locked away from the world. When I try to talk to her, it ends in tears and frustration—both of us lashing out in fear, I think. She barely sleeps. She hardly eats. And she never laughs anymore. All that’s left are tears and this unshakable sense of loss.

She lost her job—a job that, for so long, she said was her purpose. Her identity. I was so proud when she rebuilt her life after everything she’d been through. She’s done it so many times before, but this time, she says, was the hardest. She worked tirelessly, even as they dangled promotions and raises in front of her but never delivered. She didn’t quit, though. She couldn’t. She wanted to prove to herself—and to me—that she was more than what life had thrown at her.

She’s always been a fighter. Starting out as a single mom, she carried the weight of everything—me, her job, even my grandmother who failed to support her only criticizes her as a mother. Which I questioned as an adult why she took her in. My mom says her dad walked out what was she supposed to do? She built a life for us from nothing, filling it with love and security. By the time I was ten, she had bought a house and made sure I never felt like I was missing out. She volunteered for my sports teams, joined the PTA, and worked double shifts to learn how to be better than her competitors and to make it all happen.

Then I got sick.

She gave up her first career, just as she was being promoted, to take care of me. She never hesitated, never complained. “There’s no choice,” she’d say. “You’re my daughter. You come first.” My dad wasn’t around, so she carried it all herself. My step father often not giving support to her or me instead going to work like nothing was happening. She was alone.

I remember the weekly hospital visits, her sleeping in a chair next to me, always holding it together. Even when the doctors mentioned cancer, she stayed calm. She never let me spiral, even when I could see the worry etched on her face. She was my rock, my biggest cheerleader, my best friend.

But now… now she’s a stranger. The woman in front of me feels hollow, cold. The laughter that once filled our home is gone. She’s angry, resentful, and says she’s broken. She keeps telling me how important it is to “be resilient, no one is coming to save you”but I don’t see that strength in her anymore.

She screams that no one listens, that no one cares. Maybe she’s being dramatic, or maybe she’s right. I keep replaying moments in my head, wondering when I stopped asking the questions she always knew to ask me.

Months later, I realized the truth: I failed her. I didn’t check in the way she would have. I didn’t notice how much she was hurting. It was easier not to. But she wouldn’t have let me go through something like this alone.

She tells me it’s too late. My mom—my best friend—is gone. The light in her eyes has faded, replaced by someone I don’t recognize.

She says she’s done, that it’s time to live her life. She spent years taking care of everyone else, and now she wants something for herself. She doesn’t know who she is or how she got here. She sees herself as lost. I understand that. I do. But am I selfish for wanting my mom back? The mom who was reliable, strong, and constant?

Now, the roles have reversed. I’m the one trying to hold things together while she acts like a teenager, staying out late and insisting this is how she’ll “find herself.” She says she’s making up for lost time, but I don’t understand what she’s looking for at 4 a.m. And I no longer will ask after our last battle. I just let her go, hoping she finds her way back.

I’ve tried to help, but nothing seems to be enough. She’s lost her job, her marriage, and—she says—herself. My dad thinks she needs a psychiatrist, but he doesn’t know what to do either. Actually he never does. He really is no better, she does it all for him. She told him she was leaving him but no matter what she says, he denies it’s real. He insists she’ll come back, but I don’t see it happening anymore. I feel lost she is gone and now my family is torn apart also. She doesn’t see it impacts all of us but also doesn’t seem to care. She says no one cared for twenty years ,why should she care now?

I feel she protected me from a lot of the issues because she is right, I don’t understand. What happened? I thought they were happy. So does this mean, what I thought I knew was a lie?

I don’t know how everything changed so quickly. In one day, my entire world flipped upside down. She used to protect me, guide me. Now, I feel like I’m the one taking care of her.

I keep hoping she’ll come back—the loving, strong woman I knew. But she keeps saying that person is dead. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I should have noticed sooner how much she was fading away. Maybe I should have asked the questions she never had to ask me.

I watched him vomit this evening’s wonderful dinner again. We shared it just a few hours earlier, and now it was all over the carpet. He laughed while I cleaned it up, eyes rolling back in his head as he stumbled across the room. I couldn’t be mad at him; I knew it was the disease, not him.

He told me things last night he doesn’t remember. I could tell this morning, that he had no idea what we shared. He didn’t even remember me sleeping over. He used to, though. I keep telling myself - I can’t be mad at him: it’s the disease.

I watched him begin to heal, shivering as he put the drink down and smashed the bottle on the ground. He cleaned it up this time, not me. Then, he promised his sobriety to himself and to me. The disease hadn’t won.

Now, I watch him exercise with a genuine smile - all these years later. He’s alive and vibrant, and I’m here still, too. He doesn’t blame anything on the disease anymore. We are happy.

I never forgot you but who forgot you. Love last could cast. Green eyes sparkle like crystals! I loved you an everlasting love that was a short lived. How it passed us. Never to see you again. The mirror has shattered. Will I ever find closer

I watch her. From a distance of teenage angst. Shes sad. She has sad eyes. I know this, but im not strong enough to help her. I am weak right now. Or maybe im as strong as i ever have been. Either way, i do not have the energy to keep her afloat. At best, i can wave at her from the dockside as she flounders amongst lifes waves whacking her around.

I watch her. My child. My baby of five. As i prepare to bury my sick second born, my youngest struggles with all things around her. Navigating hormones and hatred, shes barely hanging on. I cannot reach her.

I watch her and i know what i should do. I watch her and i feel sick myself. I watch her and i do not have the strength. I watch her. I watch her. I just watch her.

SCENE 1:

[_In a hospital birthing room. It has all of the beeping and monitors that come from a normal hospital room, but much larger and with a large white board with all of the measurements required for a birth. There are two boxes at the bottom that say “Epidural” and “No Epidural” with the epidural box checked. There is an array of circles with centimeter measurements on them labeled above as “Dilation”: 7 cm is circled. Lastly it lists the baby’s name “Elora”, the Nurse’s name “Rebecca”, and the midwife “Laura”.Throughout the right side of the room there is a number of personal belongings: a suitcase, a lunch box, a change of clothes sitting on the floor, and water bottles. In the room there are two beds: one for the patient (MATILDA) and a cot for the patient’s partner. The partner (ALLY) is soundly sleeping on their bed, the patient is restless, unable to move except for her shoulders and up. She has a light blanket and sheet covering the back half of her body. She’s hooked up to a large heartbeat monitor that lies on her stomach. She sighs, trying to roll over, with no luck. Besides the light coming from all of the monitors, the room is dark. One of the many beeping noises stops for a moment. _REBECCA _enters the room, and without addressing _MATILDA or ALLY, she checks the apparatus that is hooked up to the wall.]

REBECCA: Alright, mama. I’m going to have to look at that monitor of yours. MATILDA: Okay, sure. 

[REBECCA reaches under the sheet and grabs the monitor, pulling it hard to maneuver it where she wants it to go. As she’s moving, she’s looking at one of the computer screens.]

REBECCA: Sorry, this thing is just not wanting to cooperate tonight. MATILDA: Yeah, I got that impression.

[After one swift move, the beeping starts back up again. A monitor in the corner shows “150 BPM”]

REBECCA: Okay, we are back online. Are you doing okay? Do you need anything? MATILDA: No, I don’t think so.  REBECCA: Are you sure? You hesitated a bit. MATILDA: I just can’t get comfortable. REBECCA: Want me to move you? I can be quick. MATILDA: No, I don’t want to mess with the monitor. I think I’ll be alright. REBECCA: Gotcha. Well, if you need anything, you know how to reach me. Alright? MATILDA: Alright.

[REBECCA exits. MATILDA shifts her weight one more time.]

[pause]

MATILDA: Hey, Ally? Ally? Are you awake? ALLY: Halfway. What’s wrong? MATILDA: Nothing. I just can’t sleep. ALLY: Hopefully that means tonight’s the night. MATILDA: Hopefully. They just keep coming in to fix the monitor. ALLY: Yeah. I’m sorry. 

[MATILDA _sighs, leaning back into bed. _ALLY quickly falls back asleep. _There is a long pause, and the clock in the room moves to show that time has passed. The monitor shows “150 BPM” consistently and the beeping maintains rhythm with the beeps. All of a sudden, the number starts to drop quickly. _MATILDA hears this and shoots up.]

MATILDA: Oh no. No, no, no, no!  

[_Four nurses and LAURA all rush in, gathering around _MATILDA. ALLY quickly wakes up and stands, watching as everything unfolds.]

NURSE 1/NURSE 2/REBECCA: It’s okay, just keep breathing. Keep breathing./Get on your hands and knees. Now!/Roll over,    Mama!

[MATILDA tries to get on her hands and knees and struggles, falling over herself as she can’t stable her legs. LAURA _holds _MATILDA up on her hands and knees.]

LAURA: What’s the BPM? NURSE 3: 50. Wait, 45. Wait- REBECCA: It’s plummeting! LAURA: Matilda, listen to me. Okay? I know you don’t want to do a C-section, and it’s the last  thing you want to do. But we have to get you- MATILDA: Do it. I trust you. Do it.  LAURA: Good. 

[LAURA looks over to the rest of the nurses and nods. _The nurses maneuver _MATILDA _onto her back. A nurse crosses over to _ALLY]

NURSE 2: You’re dad, right? ALLY: Right.  NURSE 2: Here’s what's going to happen. I’m going to bring you a gown in a minute, then you  can come into the OR. I’ll walk you down. Okay? ALLY: Understood. 

[_The bed gets wheeled out of the room, and all exit, leaving _ALLY alone.]

ALLY: Jesus Christ. 

SCENE 2: [MATILDA _lays upright, groggy, in a much smaller room. On the left side of the room hangs a curtain, indicating that it’s a post-op room. _ALLY _is sitting next to her. They are alone. _MATILDA shakes her head and opens her eyes slowly.]

ALLY: Oh! You’re finally awake.
MATILDA: Am I? ALLY: No, good point, you’re actually asleep. This has all been an elaborate dream. MATILDA: She wasn’t crying. ALLY: No, she wasn’t. Listen, I’m sorry I left when I did. They were just taking her and- MATILDA: No, I wanted you to follow her. She needed her daddy.

[ALLY nods, looking down at the ground.]

MATILDA: How was the surgery? Did you get to see any of it? ALLY: Oh yeah, I got a front row seat. You should have seen that surgeon, he was like the  Swedish Chef, except he was throwing around your organs. MATILDA: Damn. And you didn’t record it? ALLY: Alas.  MATILDA: That surgeon though. They talked to me after the surgery-apparently he’s the best surgeon for C-sections in the region. ALLY: Wow. MATILDA: Good thing he was up here at 3 AM. ALLY: No kidding. MATILDA: He even talked to me a bit. ALLY: Yeah? MATILDA: Yep. He said that I had a good team, because if we had gotten her there just one  minute too late, we would have lost her.

[The air feels heavy. A pause.]

ALLY: Well it’s a good thing that the monitor worked then. MATILDA: Right.

[There’s a knock on the wall, a doctor with a badge that says “PHYSICIAN” on it enters and sits down next to the bed.]

DOCTOR: Hello. How are you feeling after the surgery? MATILDA: I can’t even feel it, so I’m fine. DOCTOR: For now, at least, right? Well, my name is Doctor Booth, I am the physician presiding  over the NICU that Elora is staying at right now. I have some good news and some bad  News. The good news is she is stable. She is breathing well with the assistance we have  provided for her. The bad news is we believe that she has taken a significant hit from not  receiving enough oxygen at birth, and there is a high chance of pronounced  developmental delays. She is currently on a cooling mat to prevent any further damage,  and we will have an MRI for her later this week where we will be able to find out more  about her future prognosis. But, like I said, she is stable. What questions do you have for  Me?

[MATILDA _and _ALLY look at each other for a moment, scrambling in their heads for words]

MATILDA: Do we know what the scope would be for her disabilities? DOCTOR: That is what the MRI is for, but I would say nothing is ruled out as of right now. MATILDA: I mean, I already work in special education. If you can’t fathom being a parent of       someone with a disability, I believe you shouldn’t be a parent at all. DOCTOR: That’s a good mindset to have. ALLY: Do we know what caused the hit? DOCTOR: Only guesses, we can’t really determine the cause. We just know that she  experienced a long period of time without oxygen and it’s causing problems. MATILDA: When can I see her? DOCTOR: That is up to your nurses and physicians. We’ll make sure you’ll see her soon  Though.

[beat.]

DOCTOR: Alright, if there’s nothing else, I will leave you two to process.  ALLY/MATILDA: Thank you./Thanks.

[DOCTOR _exits. _ALLY _holds _MATILDA’s hand. Blackout.]

The world went black, and then I woke up. I was back in the house as if I had never left. I saw my wife rushing down the hallway, desperate to know if the gunshot she heard was just a dream. She creaked the door open and heard me gargling on the blood filling my mouth. She stumbled back, her face pale as she dialed for our oldest daughter. I wanted to comfort her, to reach out, but I couldn’t catch her attention. I could no longer feel her touch or her warmth. I could feel nothing. The room was cold; I was cold. She was just light now, glowing in the darkness I had created.

My granddaughter had left just an hour before I chose to die. The last thing I said to her was, “See you next time.” I didn’t even realize yet that there wouldn’t be one.

What happened was… after she left, I sat outside for a while. My mind was drifting off and becoming unclear. I got up and walked through the front door, seeing my wife on the couch, lost in her 30-inch iPad. I didn’t say a word as I continued down the hallway to our bedroom. I opened the drawer, and there it was—the last object I ever saw, my dad’s old gun. I lay in the bed, covering myself up to my waist, as if I were ready to sleep for the night. Suddenly, the gun was to my head. Then it happened. I was gone. The world went black, and then I woke up—except it wasn’t normal. I saw my own body on the bed.

My granddaughter was back home when she got the news of what I had done. I watched her open the text. She just stopped, her face blank. She didn’t say a word. She initially believed that her mom was playing a prank with the text. She thought, “Why would someone make a prank that horrifying?” “How could this actually have happened?” and “This can’t be real.” She was overcome with pure disbelief for days. She walked into the living room and told her dad that I had killed myself, then drove to the gym, as if it had no effect on her.

I followed her, feeling helpless. She met her boyfriend in the parking lot and told him. She cried, only for a second, then went inside. She didn’t even look like she cared. In the gym, she broke down several times, sitting on the floor with her head down; she was lost. Her boyfriend noticed her and tapped his foot against hers to bring her back to reality, but she just fell back into a hole of terrifying thoughts and nothingness. He grabbed her hands as she dug her nails into her skin to feel something. I felt a regret wash over me. Should I have done this? Was it a good choice?

She walked out of the gym. Right before she reached her boyfriend’s truck, she fell to the cement, the bloody scratches from her nails now covered in dirt. She screamed as loud as she could. Her boyfriend dropped to the ground in an attempt to help her get up. She could only scream. He picked her up and carried her limp, quivering body to the truck. She bawled. After that, she couldn’t sleep for days, haunted by the sight I left. She was scared to close her eyes, thinking if she did, I would appear in the room just like I had left—cold, lifeless, and covered in blood. I never meant to scare her. She never came back to the house. I reside there now, and she doesn’t want the image of me to resurface after seeing the room I left in.

My choice had left a shadow over the lives of those I loved. I could never take it back.

(I wrote this from his perspective of different people, not just me as the granddaughter. I didnt know how to only focus the story on me.) (Pls give feedback bc I would like to edit and make this story a lot better.)