I live the best life a nine-year-old could live. I live across the street from my best friend, down the street from my favorite playground, and a five-minute walk from my elementary school; life could not be better. Every morning, my mom creaks my room door open and whispers,
“Good morning honey, it is time to get up.”
I slowly pry my covers off, place my tiny toes to the cold wood floor, and stretch my arms up to the sky letting out a big yawn. Then, I finish getting dressed, brush my hair and teeth and I skip into the kitchen where my mom is waiting for me with my lunch in a bag, already made from the night before. I tuck all my belongings into my pink unicorn backpack and as I am heading out the door my mom hands me a slice of peanut butter toast for the road. As I swing open the front door to meet my best friend waiting outside, I cry out,
“I love you!” to my mom as she now prepares her own breakfast and lunch. Jessica and I have been best friends since we were in preschool. Ever since then we have been inseparable and attached at the hip at all times. We skip down the street our five-minute walk to school and then into our classroom. After a long 6 hours of 4thgrade it was finally time to go home. I walk through my front door and up the stairs to my dining room table to begin my homework. I look at the clock and it reads 3:20. Okay,I think to myself, I have one hour and ten minutes before my mom gets home at 4:30. An hour and ten minutes pass and my mom is not home yet. Maybe there is traffic, I thought, she will be home soon. Another thirty minutes pass and she is still not home. Maybe she stopped to get groceries on the way home and forgot to tell me. Another hour passes and I begin to get worried. She comes home at exactly 4:30 everyday, where is she? The clock now reads 7:30 and my mom is nowhere to be seen. I am sure she just got held up at work and she will be home as soon as she can. I get a phone call on my house phone at 9:30 that night.
“Excuse me, is Mr. Smith there,” the woman on the telephone asks.
“No,” I reply, “He moved out a long time ago.”
“Then who am I speaking to?” the woman asks me.
“Natalie Smith,” I reply.
“Ms. Smith’s daughter I assume,” the women says.
“Yup, that is me,” I say.
“I have some very bad news Natalie.” I hold my breath.
“Your mother was in an accident and she is being rushed to the hospital in critical condition.” My heart drops.
This cannot be happening. I thank the women on the phone and just as I end the phone call, I get another, from my aunt this time. She talks to me and I know she is speaking through a façade, because I can hear the wavering of her voice from holding back tears. She explains that she is on her way to pick me up, and that we will head for the hospital after that. I agree and hang up the phone. I pack an overnight bag like my aunt told me to because I do not know how long we will be there.
My aunt pulls into the driveway and I hurry into the car. I climb into the backseat where my 8-year-old cousin, who is basically my sister, sits next to me. My aunt and uncle who are in the front seat welcome me, but do not say another word, and silence falls upon us like a twenty-pound brick. Why are they not saying anything? Why do I not know what to say? Why is no one talking? All these emotions stirring around in my head and I do not know how to react. Am I mad? Sad? Worried? Confused? Just as I feel my blood boiling through my veins, a cold hand reaches out to touch mine. I look up and meet my cousin’s kind eyes, she mouths to me, “It is okay,” and nods in my direction. I close my eyes and lean against the cold, wet window, wishing that everything would go back to the way it was.
We arrive at the hospital and my uncle gets us directed to my mother’s room where she is recovering. We slowly creep into the room where my mother lies, peacefully sleeping. I walk to her bed and look up at the nurse for what I thought was permission, but I was not completely sure, because I had never been put in this situation before. Nonetheless, she nods and smiles at me, as if to grant me passage. I grab my mom’s hand and hold it tight, never wanting to let go. The nurse comes up behind me and puts a hand on my back; she explains that through the tests they just ran, they expect my mom to be in a coma for at least two weeks. Those words were acid, melting my brain and my heart, making my legs feel weak and hands quiver, I could not believe it was true. Of all the people on this earth, why did it have to happen to us? I stayed with my aunt, uncle and cousin at the hospital for a few hours that night until they decided it was time to go home.
“You will stay with us for a few weeks Natalie,” my aunt says as we are driving back to my house. “It will be like a two week long slumber party for you and Anna, I promise.”
Two weeks go by and my mom has made no known progress. I have not given up hope; I have just learned to not get my hopes up. I miss her more than I thought possible. I miss her waking me up in the morning because now I set my own alarm; I miss her making my lunch for school because now I pack it the night before, and what I miss most of all is yelling, “I love you!” as I leave to go to school every morning, because that was the last thing I said to her, and I will never forget it.
