Chapter XXI

It was 7:30pm when Mike received the summons to come home—and “home” was nine hours away. Mike packed the car while his wife and daughter finished dinner and then they headed out. The aunt wanted them to stay the night, but they had to go.

Almost three hours later they had made good progress on their trip. Without warning, Mike “saw” something. Suddenly he seemed to be behind the backseat of their car—and the backseat was empty (in reality, his daughter was there in her car seat with much of their luggage around her). A figure started to rise up out of the seat. It was wearing a hooded robe and had boney fingers. Mike could see the figure was moving behind him—the real him, still in the driver’s seat. The figure brought its hands up and rested them on Mike’s shoulders. Mike seemed to feel that and it sent a shiver through him. Then the vision was gone. According to the clock, it was 10:20pm.

The rest of the drive was uneventful, but parts of it were unpleasant. Mike’s daughter screamed/cried the last two hours. She usually enjoyed riding in the car at night (it put her to sleep), but something was upsetting her that night. The family arrived home a little after 3:00am and almost immediately the phone rang. It was Cal. He let Mike know their mom had an aneurysm, but was stable. He told Mike to get some sleep.

Just as Mike was drifting off, the phone rang again. It was Marion. She was hysterical. She wanted to know if Mike had a key to their parent’s house. She and Marge went there to pick up their father, but he wasn’t answering the door. Marion was afraid something had happened to him. It reminded Mike of the night Marion tormented herself so long ago, worrying they were orphans because their dad got home late.

Mike grabbed his keys and drove over. Their dad was fine. He’d taken one sleeping pill to help get some rest. But things had changed for the worse at the hospital and the family needed to go back. Cal didn’t share that when he called because he thought Mike sounded too tired.

During the drive to the hospital Marge filled Mike in on the details of what happened. First telling him their mom had stopped breathing on her own sometime between 10pm and 11pm, the hospital wasn’t sure when. Marge went on to share that their mom had a headache all day Friday, but went to bingo with her friends. When she got home, she had some tea, went to bed, and then appeared to have some sort of convulsion. By the time the ambulance arrived she was unconscious. Amazingly, Saturday morning she woke up. The doctors said she’d had an aneurysm, but seemed to be okay.

However, she had a few holes in her memory. She thought her father was alive—he had passed away when Mike was little. She also only remembered four children. She had forgotten Mike. That was ironic. How many times had he been told he wasn’t supposed to be there? But that was yesterday morning. In the afternoon she had a second rupture in the same spot and had not regained consciousness yet.

Two things competed for attention in Mike’s thoughts. First, that he had refused to talk to his mom the day she had the headache. He said he’d talk to her when he got home. From now on he would talk to her when he had the chance. The other thing that occurred to him was that his mom had probably stopped breathing on her own at 10:20pm, when he had that vision. Maybe she reached out to him to let him know she did remember him, even if she had been confused for a while.

Mike had no doubt everything was going to be okay. He’d been to that same hospital many times, with doctors expecting his mother-in-law to pass away. She came through every time and his mother would too. It was just a matter of time. At the hospital, a nurse from Intensive Care requested permission to run tests to measure brain activity. The family agreed the hospital should run every test they needed to.

Kathy showed up around noon with lunch for everyone. Mike went home with her so he could take a much needed shower. He went right back to the hospital and arrived just in time to hear the test results. The hospital’s neurosurgeon told them there was no brain activity and almost no chance for a recovery. The rest of the family was devastated, but not Mike. He had faith she was going to be fine. Then Mike heard his father admonish the other siblings for being upset, “What are you all upset about? She’s just your mother. She’s my wife!” Interesting, the man didn’t think people should be upset at losing their mom. Did he feel that way when his mom passed? What a dumb thing to say. But it was a stressful time and you try to give people more understanding under those circumstances.