Chapter 1

It was Tuesday, April 23rd — a beautiful spring day in Denver. It also happened to be her grandmother, Hon’s birthday and was, Ann thought, the perfect kind of day to remember and appreciate such a life as Hon’s had been.

Ann wished Hon had not died before Ethan was born. She tried to turn her attention back to the paperwork that had piled up on her desk during her trip to Mexico City, but found she kept coming back to other more treasured thoughts. Ethan would have adored this great-grandmother, and Hon would have been so proud of him. Their energy and interactions would have been such fun to watch.

Family lore said that when any of the family passed on to the other side, Hon would be the one to receive them. Ann mused, glancing once again at the picture of her grandmother’s serene and loving face, that if that were really true, passing on would probably be a lovely experience. She felt truly and deeply blessed in life.

But today seemed odd. Her energy had just drained from her body without a backward glance. She felt like a suddenly abandoned beehive and, at 5:30, had retired to her bedroom for a late nap.

The phone was ringing in her ear like a tardy bell. She awoke as if summoned back from the moon, nerves jangling, mind missing. Such a deep, dreamless sleep!

"Hello?" Ann grabbed up the receiver and tried to focus on the green numerals on the bedside clock. 7:05.

"Yes. I'm calling from the Swedish Hospital emergency facility. Do you know an Ethan Wolf?"

"Yes. He's my son."

"Good. Well, there's been a bad accident and you need to get over here right away."

"Oh no! Is he okay?" Ann’s mind snapped to full alert, her heart beating so furiously now she could barely hear the stranger’s next words.

"I really can't tell you. You need to come on over here, to the emergency room at Swedish."

"I'll be right there," Ann whispered as she struggled to replace the phone on its cradle. "I’ll be right there."

Chapter 2

Ann stumbled through the early-evening shadows toward the bathroom. Emergency room ... bad accident ... She should find a less rumpled T-shirt to throw on, shouldn’t she? This one looked like she'd been sleeping in it. Well, who the hell cared? She had been sleeping in it. Mascara. Didn't want to look like a ghost.

"For God's sake, Ann. Come on!" her sister Jodee’s voice screamed in her head. "This is not the time to be worried about how you look!"

It was twelve years earlier that she and her sister had been called from the hospital, informed that they needed to get to Roo's side right away, that their mother had had a bad night and her condition was worsening. How many times had Ann thought back on that moment of denial standing vacantly in front of the mirror, applying eyeliner and mascara? Jodee’s reproach had barely penetrated the thick mental fog separating her from reality at that moment.

The two sisters had headed off to the hospital, young life-virgins untouched by death, full of the kind of arrogance — the arrogance of the fortunate — that believes no real harm can come to you or anyone you really love, no matter how many facts you know to the contrary. Just pretend it isn't true and it'll somehow be all right.

In fact Ann had treated her mother's entire illness as if it were just a bad story, a matter of mind over weakness, and that if she refused to view it as anything serious it would all turn out just fine. Even when she'd headed off in the rental car and felt Hon's presence sitting beside her in the passenger seat . . . even when she made the connection that maybe Hon was coming for Roo, she willed it not so, tightened her psychic fists and turned her back to the truth.

"I'll see you in the morning, Mommy," she'd said that night in the hospital. "I'll give you a bath and comb your hair tomorrow, okay?"

Ann slapped cold water across her face, realizing she was once again succumbing to that same dense fog, that numbing slow-mo unreality that permeates everything in an emergency.

Roo died that morning. For years afterwards Ann had pushed aside waves of regret, wishing she'd been conscious enough to be present for Roo, to help her die instead of trying to convince her that it wasn't going to happen.

And now here it was again. Another call to go to the hospital. "Wait just one minute, God, Jodee, whoever... I’m just going out on another errand. Everything’s OK." But her internal screamer persisted: "No! Get going -- NOW!"

Heading down the stairs, she grabbed her purse from off the landing, extracted the keys and ran over to the car. She felt light-headed, her mind swimming through a cove of self-induced voices, memories and sensations. The memory of sitting on the brocade sofa in the old living room twenty-one years ago came back to her. It was early in the morning and she was nursing Ethan who was then a tiny squirming blob swaddled in her arms, making half-humming piglet noises at her breast. She had felt his little fist un-ball and grasp her finger, lost in the ecstacy of sucking. How had this little lump become the most important thing in her material life in so few short weeks? she wondered.

She recalled how at that moment, sitting alone in the dark with Ethan, she had realized that this wee creature would probably put her through untold anguish before she finally bid farewell to this earth. All this because we feel in our bones the chill fear that comes with loving another so totally, sensing how lost and ravaged we would be if the cherished one should ever be taken from us.

What will I do the day he comes and tells me he wants a motorcycle? she had thought. Can I stop him from doing it by telling him I can’t bear the thought of him hurling across the pavement like a hockey puck? Should I plan, like Sleeping Beauty’s parents, to lock him in the castle so he won’t prick his finger on a hexed spindle, so he’ll escape any wicked curses that might be cast upon him?

She became ultra-conscious of her breathing, an instinctive shield against panic. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. In the background was the mantra she repeated incessantly as she wended her way through unfamiliar streets to the hospital: "Please, God, please. Please let him be okay. Please God, let him be okay."

She bit down on an icy mint and, as it snapped in two, she willed her brain to think lighter thoughts and her heart to have faith: this was all going to turn out OK. Just breathe and stay calm.

Remember Ethan’s high school friend who’d had a passion for sailboat racing? When the kid had finally saved up enough money to buy his own Laser he’d had the ironic wit to name it Ma’s Worst Nightmare. How they’d laughed at that, even knowing how true it probably was.

Laughter was a parent’s way of whistling in the darkness of apprehension while waiting for all the cards to be laid. The time came when parents could only wait and pray, and refuse to entertain the possibility of the unthinkable.

She pulled away from yet another stop sign, peering through the gloom to find something familiar. There were stop signs at every other corner and she felt she was hardly making any forward progress. Still light-headed she wanted nothing more than to pass out. This trip was taking forever!

One by one her various advisor-parts came forward in her consciousness: The Consoler reminded her of the time she'd had to go to the emergency room at Mercy Hospital, terrified, not knowing what had happened to Ethan. The nurse had led her toward the room where he was waiting, preparing her all the while for the sight of him with his nose flattened on his bruised face. That had all turned out okay, hadn’t it?

The Calm One kept telling her to take deep breaths. . . to stay conscious. . . to not panic. . . to stay focused. "Don't space out. Pay attention. You need to get there soon, but don't speed. You may need to sign papers for some procedure that will save his life. Don't space out. Take deep breaths."

There was the time in Oklahoma when he'd been in a roll-over accident with his babysitter, Deni, and her family. They still laughed about it whenever they got together. That had all turned out okay hadn't it?

Inhale. Exhale. "Please, God, please. Please let him be okay." Inhale. Exhale.

The Optimist: Nothing really bad could happen. God would take care of her. He'd always taken care of her. Nothing bad could happen to Ethan. He was too good. He was too young. He was too beautiful. "Please, God."

The Worrier came forward to prepare her for the worst so she wouldn't be unduly surprised by anything. Maybe Ethan would be brain dead. Maybe he would be on life support systems. Maybe she'd have to decide whether he would live or die.

She realized she didn't really know where Swedish was exactly. She was almost positive it was at Hampden and Clarkson. Was she heading the wrong way? She became aware that she felt muddled and bewildered and needed to reorient herself. "Excuse me, where is Swedish Hospital?" she yelled to a passing jogger. "That way," he called back, pointing straight ahead of her while running in place. "Just a couple of blocks. You’re almost there."

Inhale. Exhale. "Please, God, please."

She saw the sign for the Emergency Room, pulled into a slot marked "Valet Parking Only." She tried to decide whether to obey the sign or not. Hell, if they towed her car, she'd deal with it later.

If he were dead they would have told her. He must be alive. He must just be hurt. "Please, God, let him be okay."

The emergency room was in another building, up an elevator, down a long hall, another elevator, cross a bridge.... Inhale. Exhale. Finally she was at the desk that said "Start Here." The nurse said she didn't know anything about it, but she'd find out. She picked up the phone and said something Ann couldn't really hear, except for the words "Ethan Wolf."

"Here, Let's go this way. I'll come with you." The nurse was about eight months pregnant and had a very kind face.

Down another long hall. "What exactly did they tell you on the phone?" the nurse asked.

"Just that there'd been a bad accident and that Ethan was here in the emergency room. I asked if he was okay, and they said they couldn't tell me and to just come over."

Left, down another hall.

The nurse motioned for her to enter the door at the end of the hall. "Here. Wait here for me. I'll have to go back in the other room to see what's going on."

It was a small dimly lit room decorated in muted tones. It held a loveseat, three chairs and an end table with a lamp, a box of Kleenex and a phone. There was a closed door and the door into the hallway where the nurse had called back, almost as an afterthought, "I'm afraid this probably is a very serious situation, Ann, otherwise they wouldn't have had you wait in this room. I'll be right back."

A serious situation. . . ? What? Not just a broken nose then? Is he dead? Is he maimed? Perhaps he's a quadriplegic. Maybe he's a vegetable? There was no point asking. There was only breathing to do: Inhale. Exhale.

Her senses expanded until she felt like the Buddha. She knew everything and nothing. She had sat forever in this room. She had seen all people pass through this room. Worlds had been created and destroyed before her eyes. There was only breath.

Suddenly five people, two men and three women, including the pregnant nurse swarmed in, filling the room. Everyone was staring at her intensely, as if by riveting her in their gaze a mind meld could be achieved. They wanted something from her. They wanted her to know something they knew.

"Mrs. Williams, are you Ethan's mother?"

"Yes."

"I'm Doctor Blah Blah, this is Doctor Blah Blah Blah, this is nurse Blah. This is Chaplain Blah Blah. As you know, there's been a terrible accident. Ethan wasn't wearing a seat belt."

Doctor Blah Blah fixed her in his sight like a cobra, his eyes were a hypnotic blue. She was waiting. Waiting. He kept searching her eyes. What was he looking for? She wanted to yell at him, 'So tell me, already!'

"Ethan has died."

So.

So,that was it.

Ethan has died.

So this was the end of the story.

Well, here it was.

Oh, Ethan!