Lost Emotions

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Memoir  |  House: Booksie Classic
I came about this short story while I was in the hospital with the flu and I saw a very ill mother with a child laying down beside her in the hospital bed.

Submitted: January 18, 2008

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Submitted: January 18, 2008



I remember the day I gave birth to my son. How small he was and how he could fit so nicely in my arms. His bright eyes filled with an instantaneous admiration and love for me. We had bonded ever since and nothing could take him away from me. Or so I thought…

Here I lay in this hospital bed with nothing around me but boring white curtains, floors, sheets and couches. My mouth dry with thirst, but there was no nurse in sight. To just get up and walk to the water fountain had seemed so easy long ago since the disease came to me. The Disease. Oh yes, how it crept and snuck up on me on the most inconvenient of times. Today was my visit with my son whom was so small at six that I feared he would be made fun of when he grew older. I could barely feel my limbs. Like dead logs that had become apart of me. There was no reason for the disease, and it was unknown.

I had been experiencing black outs for a couple months and I went to a doctor to see what was the problem only to discover that the brain lesions in my head were caused by some seemingly paranormal source. These black outs would happen anywhere at anytime and I would always find myself laying on the floor with people all around me asking me if I was okay. I never was okay. I never will be okay, but as long as I have my son I can survive. Survive. The word that so many doctors spoke to me in hopes to raise my confidence. I hated the word for the word had become obsolete and different.

It was mid-afternoon as the clock in front of me had said. Three o’clock and in ten minutes my son would come into the room with open arms and beg for me to tell him I was okay. He didn’t understand illness like we adults do. Blissful ignorance and I thank whatever god there may be for him to be blissfully ignorant during this trying time and I prayed and prayed that he would not contract this disease. I wasn’t old, nor was I young. In my early 30’s I felt twenty years older due to this disease. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t speak and although I could hear, I could still see the look of tragedy in my son’s young, naïve eyes.

The sun dared shine it’s rays into my room that smelt of disinfectant and a prolonged death. Taunting and teasing me. “Come outside, Andrea!” I could hear the birds, trees and sunshine calling me, beckoning me to come outside. How cruel of the earth to make me this way, but it must be as it must be. Lonely I was. My husband passing not too long ago due to prostate cancer and now here I am. A widowed, lonely woman who was dying in a hospital bed when I could be taking care of my beloved son whom was staying at my parents’ house till I supposedly got better.

The door opened and in came a small boy with bright blond hair that reflected in the sunlight and electric blue eyes that shone with excitement and a gleeful twinkle when they layed upon mine.

I weakly opened my arms and the boy came and jumped up onto my bed and wrapped his arms around me as though he would never see me again. The nurse slowly came in behind him and smiled with a tear in her eye. That’s all people did these days was cry. I didn’t want them to cry. I wanted them to enjoy my company as long as possible.

“Mommy! How are you?” said the small child. He knew that I could no longer speak for the brain lesions had taken that part of me away. No longer could I say ‘I love you’ or ‘I am fine my darling’ and no longer could he hear my voice. My thin lips curved into a weak, yet promising smile that told him I was fine…for now. When he was gone all I did was wait for him to come back. He’d beg the nurses to stay in the hospital with me, but that was not a possibility. His name was Alex. Oh my sweet Alex who’s love was infinite and his craving for affection and attention was insatiable. He looked just like his father and to have my baby in my arms was like the disease never touched me, but when he let go I was cascaded back to demise.

“I brought some colouring books.” Alex informed and took from his small Bob the Builder back pack a colouring book and some crayons. He sat in my lap and brought the tray that goes over my bed to him and immediately started colouring. I watched him colour. Moving his hands with ease. I grew jealous, but happy for I knew this disease could not be genetic. My gaze turned to the nurse who was holding back tears. I wished she would go away. And I would happily tell her to if my vocal cords worked. I could barely lift a spoon to my mouth.

Within an hour the boy had abandoned his colouring books and was now nestled against me fast asleep and I had to admit I would’ve had tears in my eyes if I wasn’t such a hard ass. I closed my eyes and soon drifted off to sleep. What seemed like only seconds passed and the nurse came back in and told us Alex would have to go back to his grandparents’ now because visiting hours were over. Alex stirred and looked up at me and kissed my cheek and I smiled weakly. How joyous he was and how malicious of nature to make time go so quickly when it was the most precious. Watching him crawl off my lap and leave the room with the usual “I love you” was torture in the worst of ways and I could feel my heart snap and cringe with pain…and it wasn’t the disease.

Dinner time came and soon my nurse entered the lonely room with the very hospital food I hated. Diets drove me nuts, but they thought that with a healthy diet I could get better. I was healthy before this disease and I knew that eating healthier would not help. Doctor’s were such imbeciles at times and it made me wonder if they’re the ones that should be in the hospital beds. I ate in silence. Ha ha.

I thought of my late husband whom had the cancer that spread and killed. Spread and killed. I watched him slip past my grip and what did bring tears to my eyes was the fact that my son would soon be an orphan. I loved my husband, but he never loved me. The marriage had been arranged. He was a big time oil company owner and he needed someone like me to take care of finances and the business. Well now I couldn’t even do that and his parents were doing the best that they could to keep the company together. We had been wealthy…no..rich, but the money could not be spent due to me dying and my son not old enough to understand the concept of money.
I slept and when sleeping came that was the only peace I could ever receive. But the thought of death made me shiver and shake, but I tried not to think about too much.

I awoke the next morning with the same cursed sunlight that was vile and rude and I wished it were darkness and my son was the only light for me. All for me. I had lost all track of the days as they seemed to slip into each other like molasses. I dared never to asked the date nor my schedule. As usual my doctor came in. Dr. Mason. “Good morning, Andrea. How are you today?” She asked me with that cheesy smile that if I was strong enough I would wipe off with my fist. I felt a prick in my arm and blood was drawn. The same old blood tests and urine samples that humiliated me, but I could not say a word.

The only thing they could discover about the disease was that it had started off as an unknown virus and they had asked me if they could use my body for research when I died. Fucking assholes. I was more of a test subject than a woman’s whose son was about to lose the only thing he really had; his mother.

Today I would not see my son and my heart sank the bottomless bit of sadness. I felt suicidal, but ironically, I could not move my arms enough to commit such an act and if my son were to find that his mother took her life he would feel hopeless and unloved, which was not true. I had never loved anyone or anything more than I did the boy who’s smile warmed my chilled heart and nearly chased the disease away from me. Another doctor came in with a smug look on his face. He was short and fat and his lab coat seemed to strain his fat, tweed abdomen. His clean shaven face was full of acne and his mop of greasy black hair. I hated him. This was Dr. Lance.

He tested my heart and lungs and sighed. “You may survive through this.” That word again! How dare he speak it with such contempt and excitement. Sick bastard. I knew that if I heard that nonexistent, impossible word again I would kill someone. Ironically enough these people were safe due to the fact I could never have the strength to kill someone. Survival only existed in Alex.

I was brought the bath tub in my room once the doctors left and I was undressed and exposed nude in front of the nurse that seemed to drink me in. Oh god…a lesbian. She helped me get into the tub and began to wash me. She seemed to like it and if I could move I would drown her with my own bare hands. Once I was bathed, put in clean clothes and put back into bed I began to think clearly. Sometimes I could get thinking and it could last for hours. I think about anything and everything and usually they were not good things. My parents had told me to be optimistic, but that was not a possibility for me…That was all I could remember for a week.

Everything was blackness around me until I opened my eyes to find blurryness and near darkness. People were hanging over me talking quickly and doing all that they could. Some exclaimed and some began bustling around and I felt an oxygen mask on my face. I could no longer think nor move anything. I could not feel or see properly. This was it..I was finally dying and it was happening so fast. The life being sucked out of me. And there I saw him. The very person that had made the hurt not hurt so bad. The small child that had brought my life meaning and my heart warmth when there was only cold.

My son.

Suddenly my thoughts came to life and I could feel as though I could walk to him, but when I tried it was as though my legs had betrayed me and my body broken and used and worn to the point of no use. He came to me with his arms open and suddenly everyone exited the room with what looked like tears in their eyes. The air was tight in my exhausted lungs, but I payed no attention to it as the boy crawled into my lap. His large eyes filled with emotion, pain and tears. Oh my sweet darling! He curled in my lap like he always did and he closed his eyes and took my dead hand in his. I could not feel it, but I pretended to. “Mommy. When you go to Heaven tell Daddy I said hello and that Grandma and Grandpa will take care of me.” the child spoke with as much strength as he could muster.

He produced a teddy bear that I had gotten him when he was born and he put it in my arms and I smiled..Just barely smiled, but then he smiled and tears flowed from his eyes, but he did not wail. “Take Allen with you. He’ll protect you. I’ll protect you mommy. You can’t leave me, okay?” said he when the strength could not be held.

My eyes slowly closed and I could feel every part of my body resting…sleeping. The darkness overwhelmed me and for a brief moment I could feel the warmth of my son, my angel in my arms..His tears dripping on my bare arms and I knew that one day I would see him again and I was liberated. And into darkness I sank…Into darkness I was consumed. The love that I shared with my son carried with me…

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