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I blink. Passed away? With Jesus? What in the world is Sandy talking about?
“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “Come here.” She wraps me up in a hug. A hug that feels more familiar than I think it should. I remember what she told me. Every Tuesday. If my head didn’t hurt so much, I could try to do the math. Guess how many times Sandy’s told me this same news, how many hugs just like this she’s given.
Should I cry? Part of me thinks I should cry. Have I already spent my daily allotment of tears? Am I a terrible person? Shouldn’t I be throwing myself on the couch, pounding the pillows, telling Sandy it can’t be true?
That’s probably the reaction Sandy was expecting. Maybe she thinks I’m in shock or numb and that’s why she’s still holding me and petting my head like I’m some kind of lap dog in need of comfort.
No, it’s different than that. I’ve been in shock before. How else would you describe what you experience when you wake up and realize that three months of your life, entire chunks of your brain, are missing?
This isn’t shock.
In fact, my head feels clearer and more focused than it has all day.
I begged Sandy to tell me what happened to my mom, and she did. Except I know something she doesn’t. That’s why I’m not crying. That’s why I’m not panicked or hysterical.
I don’t remember what happened. I don’t have a clue where Mom is or why Sandy is gripping me so tightly that suddenly I feel like I’m the one who’s meant to comfort her.
I don’t feel confused, sad, or scared. I know my memory’s missing. I can’t explain why all the photographs in our home have been removed or why I can’t find my cell or log into any of the computers.
But I do know one thing.
Mom isn’t dead. I’m not in shock or denial. In fact, I’m thinking more clearly than I’ve been since I woke up this morning.
Mom isn’t dead. Which means that somebody is lying to me.
I don’t know Sandy as well as I could. Like I said, our family hasn’t been the most regular of attenders at her church, and I stopped going to her girls’ Bible study a couple years ago when life got too busy.
But I know that Sandy would never intentionally lie to anybody. And I know by the way she’s working so hard to comfort me that she honestly believes my mom is dead.
Sandy isn’t lying to me. Not deliberately.
Which means that somebody else is.
And I think I know who that might be.