The Brownstone

Chapter 6: February

My mother died this morning.

It was warm for February. So warm that we had to open the windows in the brownstone. The old windows took some elbow grease to get open. My mother was struggling with the kitchen window when I came down this morning. Dennis used a butter knife and eventually the two of them were able to pry it open. Father was in his study, as usual, sipping his coffee and enjoying his bowl of cereal. I was in a hurry. I had a newspaper meeting this morning that was really important. I was being given my first assignment ever and my heart was set on the story about Sister Galman's life in England. I grabbed a banana, kissed mother, shouted "love you" to father and closed the brownstone door behind me. That is when I heard the scream. It was a sound like I had never heard before. For a moment, I was frozen. Like my limbs literally couldn't move. I forced my body to turn and found myself staring back at the frosted glass of the brownstone door glistening in the morning sun. I dropped my backpack on the top step and walked back through the doors, slowly, almost knowing somehow crossing that threshold for the last time in this life I knew.   I headed to the kitchen. My father was on the phone, on his knees, leaning over my mother who was lying on the kitchen floor. He was answering yes no questions from the 911 operator I assume. Dennis had his hands folded on the top of his head, pacing back and forth past the entrance of the kitchen. My mother's body lay still, peaceful, flat on her back beside the kitchen table. There was no blood.  No sign of trauma. It's like she laid down on the floor and fell asleep.

Within an hour, sirens, police, firefighters, EMTs and neighbors were all crowded into our home. I crushed myself into a corner. Everyone was shouting, moving quickly, knocking down things and pushing furniture out of the way to get out the front door. My backpack tumbled its way to the bottom step.  Stepped on and crushed. None of it mattered anymore.

A brain anuerysm. That is what the doctors say happened to my mother that morning. That something made her brain go crazy and she died instantly. I sat in the hospital waiting area with my father and Dennis. It was cold and white. I looked down at my penny loafers and noticed one penny was missing. Ironic. I couldn't cry. Dennis was crying. My father was crying. But I couldn't cry. We spent many hours in the hospital, my father off from room to room to speak with various people. My head felt so heavy and I heard buzzing that I could not shake. I thought about the brownstone and how we would go back there after this. I thought about the mess that was left behind. I thought about the bowl of cereal my mother dropped on her way to the floor. Who was going to clean that all up? Would we put the furniture back to where it belonged? Did we leave the window open with the butter knife propping it up? How could I possibly be thinking about these things why my mother was dead just yards away from me in another room? But somehow, all I could think about was how we were going to ever put our lives back together after this.