Revolutionärroman

“What next?” Asked his mother calmly from her bed. “Did you bring me home to die?” She looked at her two sons and husband expectantly, wanting an answer that provided a glimmer of hope, but they had none. Finally, his father answered while his brother walked away.

“That’s up to you, honey.” What did that mean? He couldn’t be sure. None of them could. He grabbed his father by the arm and led him away as he called back to his mother.

“We’ll be back, Mom.” Once in the kitchen, there was enough distance to speak freely. “What the fuck is going on, Dad?”

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you how bad it was; we should have called–”

“You think?” He interjected with more poison than intended. “If you had told me, I could have done something.”

“That’s why we didn’t; your mother decided to keep the diagnosis a secret; I just honored that. She didn’t want you disrupting your lives to save hers.”

“That’s fucking great, Dad. But it doesn’t explain why she’s here with hospice care when I was just talking to her days ago. What happened? She would have told me to come home if she thought she was dying.”

“She refused a transplant.” Silence suffocated the room.

“What do you mean she refused a transplant? Why would she do that?”

“Our insurance won’t cover the procedure, and we can’t afford it.”

“So they’re gonna let her die?”

“It’s her choice.”

“What kind of choice is that?”