CHAPTER SEVEN

When Darla entered the waiting room three nights later, the atmosphere felt different. Yesterday, Marie had seemed to be recovering from the shock of Paul’s injuries and resigned to waiting for his recovery. Now, Marie’s face bore the evidence of fresh tears.

“What’s happened, honey?” Darla asked her, setting down the brown paper bag in which she’d packed their banana sandwiches and milk.

The question brought new pain. Marie turned her stricken face toward Darla and gasped for air. “Paul had a seizure last night,” she said, her voice a low whisper.

Darla looked over into the ICU bed. At first, Paul seemed the same. He lay motionless, casts on both legs, his right arm in traction, and countless tubes running into and from his small body. Yet, the freckles that splashed his entire face seemed darker, the visible skin between them more pale. His hair was pasted to his skull. And then she saw that he was now hooked up to life support. She could hear the rhythm of the ventilator. For some reason, Paul couldn’t breathe.

“What did Dr. Baker say?”

Marie hiccoughed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her voice was so low that Darla had to lean in closer to hear.

“He said Paul will never wake up.” Marie’s eyes were full of remorse. “He wants to discontinue life support. So many times, I thought how much easier my life would be without Paul. And now,” Marie’s voice caught again, “now I can’t believe I’m going to lose him.”

Eventually, she sobbed herself into an exhausted sleep and Darla could only hold her.

Around midnight, Dr. Baker returned with his consent forms. Life support was discontinued a few hours later and Paul died peacefully, his mother by his side and Darla holding his hand.

Both women cried until they could cry no more, but Darla realized that at least some of their tears were caused by relief.