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Authors: Annalisa Nicole
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come together and tears stream down her cheeks as horrific sobs come from deep inside her. She’s crying so hard she’s gasping for air. I think she’s having a panic attack. I get out of the car and rush to open her door. I kneel down in the street to get eye level with her.
“Savvy,” I gently call. Her eyes are lost and staring straight ahead, she’s sobbing so hard she’s choking on her own tears. I touch her face, then take a thick strand of hair in my finger and give it a twirl. She instantly stops crying and her eyes come to mine. Her lungs desperately take in much needed air and I say, “Put your arms around me, baby.” Her arms go to either side of my head and lock behind me. I pull her out of the car and into my body on the street. I stand and wrap one arm under her knees and the other around her back, then kick the car door closed with my foot. She buries her face in my neck and I hold her close to my chin. “Shh, I’ve got you,” I tell her.
I dig the keys out of my pocket and enter through the front door, then kick the door closed with my foot. I walk straight back to my bedroom and place her in bed. I take off her shoes, toe off my own shoes, then get into bed with her. I pull her close and hold her sobbing body.
After about an hour she finally falls asleep. Her tiny frame still jerks with the occasional sob, but she’s finally asleep. I cover her with the sheet, then kiss her on the forehead. Her keys are still in the ignition of her car. I head back out to the street and pull Ruby into the garage. I strip out of my clothes, leaving on my boxers, and climb back in bed with Savvy. I wrap my arm around her chest; she grabs my wrist and squeezes it tight to her body. She lives with so much more hurt than I know about. Is it possible to replace a lifetime of hurt with something as simple as love?
Savvy
My eyes open and I’m in Aiden’s bed, in his secure hold, again. The thoughts of last night never left my head or my dreams. In my dreams is where I hold on to the only memories I have of my mother, and even there they’re harder and harder to see. I started to freak out when Aiden said that I have my mother’s eyes, to think that I actually do have something of my mother’s. The only thing that brought me back from a full on call the paddy wagon panic attack was Aiden twirling my hair. My mother used to do that to me all the time, it was something that I loved. I was only ten when she died from ALS. The good memories, the ones before she got sick, are sometimes hard to bring up over the memories of her in her hospice bed. “ Be a good girl and listen to Aunt Molly, ” she said. Those were the only words that kept me sane and living in Aunt Molly’s house until I was eighteen. “What are you afraid of?” her nurse, Ginger, asked her. My mother was afraid of dying. I was afraid of her dying, too. Back then, I loved my Aunt Molly, but I wanted my mommy. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to breathe,” my mother said. I was past afraid, because I had already stopped breathing as I listened to their conversation. “I’m afraid it will hurt,” she said next. I couldn’t imagine anything hurting more than the hurt in my heart as it shattered in my chest. In that moment, I almost thought that dying would be easier. “My daughter is too young, and my sister isn’t capable, I’m afraid of being alone, ” she said. Standing there by the doorway listening to her talk, I was no longer too young, my innocence was lost. She was wrong though, she wasn’t alone. Ginger stayed with her until her very last breath holding her hand the entire time. And I was there too, just outside the door. Those were the last words my mother said, ‘I’m afraid of being alone.’
Oh my God, I’m afraid of being alone, too. Those were the last words I heard as my happy and carefree childhood ended and the next eight years of worthlessness began. But it wasn’t just the next eight years. It’s been every
“Savvy,” I gently call. Her eyes are lost and staring straight ahead, she’s sobbing so hard she’s choking on her own tears. I touch her face, then take a thick strand of hair in my finger and give it a twirl. She instantly stops crying and her eyes come to mine. Her lungs desperately take in much needed air and I say, “Put your arms around me, baby.” Her arms go to either side of my head and lock behind me. I pull her out of the car and into my body on the street. I stand and wrap one arm under her knees and the other around her back, then kick the car door closed with my foot. She buries her face in my neck and I hold her close to my chin. “Shh, I’ve got you,” I tell her.
I dig the keys out of my pocket and enter through the front door, then kick the door closed with my foot. I walk straight back to my bedroom and place her in bed. I take off her shoes, toe off my own shoes, then get into bed with her. I pull her close and hold her sobbing body.
After about an hour she finally falls asleep. Her tiny frame still jerks with the occasional sob, but she’s finally asleep. I cover her with the sheet, then kiss her on the forehead. Her keys are still in the ignition of her car. I head back out to the street and pull Ruby into the garage. I strip out of my clothes, leaving on my boxers, and climb back in bed with Savvy. I wrap my arm around her chest; she grabs my wrist and squeezes it tight to her body. She lives with so much more hurt than I know about. Is it possible to replace a lifetime of hurt with something as simple as love?
Savvy
My eyes open and I’m in Aiden’s bed, in his secure hold, again. The thoughts of last night never left my head or my dreams. In my dreams is where I hold on to the only memories I have of my mother, and even there they’re harder and harder to see. I started to freak out when Aiden said that I have my mother’s eyes, to think that I actually do have something of my mother’s. The only thing that brought me back from a full on call the paddy wagon panic attack was Aiden twirling my hair. My mother used to do that to me all the time, it was something that I loved. I was only ten when she died from ALS. The good memories, the ones before she got sick, are sometimes hard to bring up over the memories of her in her hospice bed. “ Be a good girl and listen to Aunt Molly, ” she said. Those were the only words that kept me sane and living in Aunt Molly’s house until I was eighteen. “What are you afraid of?” her nurse, Ginger, asked her. My mother was afraid of dying. I was afraid of her dying, too. Back then, I loved my Aunt Molly, but I wanted my mommy. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to breathe,” my mother said. I was past afraid, because I had already stopped breathing as I listened to their conversation. “I’m afraid it will hurt,” she said next. I couldn’t imagine anything hurting more than the hurt in my heart as it shattered in my chest. In that moment, I almost thought that dying would be easier. “My daughter is too young, and my sister isn’t capable, I’m afraid of being alone, ” she said. Standing there by the doorway listening to her talk, I was no longer too young, my innocence was lost. She was wrong though, she wasn’t alone. Ginger stayed with her until her very last breath holding her hand the entire time. And I was there too, just outside the door. Those were the last words my mother said, ‘I’m afraid of being alone.’
Oh my God, I’m afraid of being alone, too. Those were the last words I heard as my happy and carefree childhood ended and the next eight years of worthlessness began. But it wasn’t just the next eight years. It’s been every
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