Falling Forward

by Dawn Robertson

  “You sure you are okay?” she presses me further. Maybe I’m just wearing it on my face, mixed with the lack of sleep and the Ambien still making its way out of my system. John Mayer was right about that red wine and Ambien.

  “I just want some answers, that’s all. We’ve been here all night, and no one has been out to talk to us once since they took Mom into surgery. I get that it’s complex and all, but an update every once and a while would be awesome.” I give two cheesy thumbs up to my sister, and she rolls her eyes at me. I try to lighten the mood with some mild sarcasm, but I should have known better with Lucy. She’s quite a bit older than me, and has always been the serious one of the family. It’s amazing more didn’t land in her lap, but she’s also safely kept herself four hours away.

  “I’m going to go raise a little shit and try to get some answers,” Lucy says as she walks in the direction of an older man in scrubs with thick black glasses. I sit down into one of those hardly cushioned waiting room chairs and close my eyes, resting my head against the wall. I’m exhausted, but grateful I’m not at work. It’s sad I had to have my mother in the hospital to finally get a day off, even though my phone continues to notify me of various emails, missed calls, and pending text messages.

  Chapter 2

  Life Sucks and Then You Die

  I didn’t think when I went to bed last night that I would wake up to the worst day of my life. Sitting alone in the parking lot of the hospital, I collapse onto the hot, Florida, mid-afternoon pavement, and just lay there for all the passersby to see. Consumed completely by my own grief, with no regard for the current image I’m projecting to these people. Tears slip from my eyes, wetting my t-shirt in the process as I stare up at the passing clouds. The bright blue skies are peppered with fluffy white clouds, the kind you only wish you could sleep on for a night.

  I take a deep breath to try to calm myself down and come to terms with the new reality before our entire family. My mother has gone to be with my father. Where ever that may be. Some say it’s heaven, and some say there is no afterlife. Personally, I think that even after a person has passed away, their spirit stays here on earth. Our loved ones never really leave us, just their physical beings. The conversations become one-sided and the physical touch is removed from our daily routines, but they’re still with us. It doesn’t change the loss I feel, though. It’s not something I could ever describe with words. The void is just too… much. I’d finally just started to grieve for my father, this is just all more than I can bear.

  Seconds turn into minutes as the asphalt starts to burn my pale skin, but I just can’t will myself to move. The burn is almost a pain I need to feel to know I am still living. If it wasn’t for that I would think my heart left this world with my Mom. How could the world be such a cruel place? I close my eyes and I can hear her voice, “Luna girl, I love you. You’ve made me the proudest mother.” She constantly encouraged me and praised the accomplishments I’ve made. I was almost ashamed to tell her how much I hated my life, because she took such pride in what I’ve become. I smile to myself thinking of her, it’s almost unreal to think this is real life.

  “Luna!” Violet’s hysterical voice carries across the parking lot. I open my eyes to see both of my sisters standing at the door of the emergency room, holding hands. Lucy has her dark sunglasses covering her eyes, which I’m sure are just as red and puffy as Violet’s. I stand and start making my way in their direction. The minute we were told that Mom passed during her surgery, I walked away. I’m sure they called after me, but I couldn’t stand there and listen to it. I listened to all the bullshit medical terms when Dad died, and I just couldn’t do it again. Not right now, not today, and definitely not for my mother. She was my rock. My person.

  “We’ve been looking for you,” Lucy says with her usual older sibling condescension.

  “I needed a couple minutes to myself,” I apologize.

  “Do you know if Mom had a will?” Of course, she did. After dad died, she went out of her way to make sure everything would be in order if something happened to her. Almost like she was ready back then for this to happen. I brought her to an attorney I frequently work with on estate matters. He took good care of her, and of course she made me the executor because I’m the only one who can ever handle anything business related.

  Lucy has been off in Georgia for years, playing house with her hot shot lawyer husband, and Violet, well, she’s always been the free spirit. Moving all over the country, living out of the back of her car, or staying with the newest love of her life. The last one didn’t work out so well and she came back to Orlando, like she always does, for my Mother to nurse her back to health and teach her to let go. It’s been a cycle since she moved out at nineteen. You would think she would stay put by now, but with the given situation she would be out of here as soon as mom’s funeral would be over.

  “Yes,” I answer in almost a whisper. “I have a copy of it at home.” Which I didn’t realize would become an open invitation for my sisters to come back to my much too messy condo. They’ve already moved onto the business side of things, and I can’t even wrap my mind around what just happened.

  I spoke to her on the phone when I left the office yesterday afternoon… and now she is gone.

  “Leyla Ann Rockwell was a force to be reckoned with. The oldest of nine children, she always had some type of responsibility in her house; Grandma always made sure of that. Her maternal instinct was born early in life, which turned out pretty damn good for me and my sisters.” I try to let out a little laugh in front of the sea of people filling the pews of the church. It was an overall awkward situation for me, considering my lax concept of religion. Nevertheless, it was my responsibility.

  “My mother embodied what it meant to be a mother. The cookie cutter, nineteen fifties image of June Cleaver in her apron, baking in the kitchen. She had an unlimited supply of recipes mixed with patience, for three hellion little girls. My poor mother was put through the ringer with the three of us, but she never wavered in her love or support of us along the way.” I stop and take a deep breath, swallowing back the lump starting to form in my throat. Fuck, I don’t want to smear my eye makeup.

  “She had one great love of her life, our father Mitchell. He was her first and only love; her soulmate. You could tell by the way they looked at each other… they were really in love. When we lost him late last year, she lost of piece of herself. I say today, Mom died of a broken heart. But I do hope today, where ever they are together, she is whole once again.” Looking across the room and seeing the faces of hundreds of people, I knew she had really touched so many more than just our small little family. Rarely do you think of the impact you have on society, until there is a moment like this.

  “Leyla was also known as, Mrs. Rockwell, to hundreds of high school students who passed through her junior American History class. She comforted a classroom during the 9/11 terror attacks, and touched so many though the acceptance group she advised for LGBT youth. She lent a listening ear and gave back outside of the classroom, both to her students in need, and the community we grew up in. For twenty-six years, she taught something that was her passion in life, history. And her love for America seeped over into our annual summer vacations. Road trips, chock full of historical landmarks along the way. Savannah, Georgia was always her favorite, so imagine her disappointment when Lucy and Kent moved to Atlanta.” Insert forced laughter here.

  “We all have our cherished memories that we will hold close, and be at peace knowing that once again my parents are back together. Just how they belong. And thank you so much from our family, for the outpouring of love and support you all have shown over the past several days. Your stories, photos, and memories are what have kept us all going through this difficult time.”

  Without another word, I step down and make my way to my seat in the front row of the stuffy Catholic Church. I followed mom’s wishes to a tee; just as she had written them all out when my father passed away. It made the process a little less
painless than it was with Dad though, since he had no plans set for himself at all. I think, over the years, he always planned everything to make sure Mom would be taken care of, not himself. That is just how he was.

  The Priest of the church continued on with his service, while I daydreamed about anything and everything but sitting inside this church. I just wanted to go home and climb in my bed for a few days and sleep this all away. It was like an ongoing bad dream, and I was just over the whole family thing. Aunts and uncles from all over the country had been crashing on couches, and setting up impromptu dinners involving second cousins and relatives I’ve never heard of before in my life. But isn’t that what weddings and funerals are for? Yup, there you have it! Just how I feel about marriage in general.

  Everyone stands and begins to sing along with some hallelujah bullshit, while I hum along but don’t even attempt to look at the words from the hymn book Violet is holding out for me to see. The only one who can see me not singing is the Priest anyway. The song goes on for a painfully long time. Of course, my mother would pick the song that had damn near seventeen verses too.

  Looking to the left, I watch Lucy struggling to wrangle her three little girls, and my mother flashes through my mind again. Those little girls are just like us growing up. I remember being just about the same age as Ava, Lucy’s oldest daughter, when our grandmother died. Mom dressed us all up in our Sunday best, and paraded us to the church and strange after party. Being eight, death isn’t very clear. I barely knew the lady, but I knew she wasn’t coming back and that was really something that didn’t have any impact on me. I guess that kind of started my view in life on death in general. It’s always been no big deal, until death came knocking for my own parents.

  I’m twenty-eight years old, and neither of my parents will ever see me make any of those milestones. My father will never walk me down the aisle. My mother will never coach me through the birth of my first child. I’ve missed those opportunities because I put a career before a social life. I don’t think it ever really bothered me until this minute, watching Lucy being the spitting image of my mother, all way the way down to her mannerisms. It’s everything I wish I could be, but it’s just a day late and a dollar short.

  Everything begins to come to an end while the Priest makes his way over to personally give us his condolences, and snaps me straight back into the year 2017. I had been lost somewhere in 1997 with the family I just so happened to be longing for. I wish that I could turn back the clock to have my parents back and my family whole once again.

  Our family starts to make our way down the aisle of the church, with our anguish on display for all the faces in the room. But, many of them look just as upset as we are. It’s in that moment that I finally feel a mild sense of comfort. I’m not sure if it’s because there are other people who are in pain, or it’s because at the end of the day there is nothing I can do to change it. Life sucks and then you die, right? We should all be prepared for death no matter when it comes. It just sucks that tomorrow morning, when I wake up, on my drive into the office I won’t have anyone to call.

  As the masses funnel out of the standing room only chapel, we each stand side-by-side, accepting the condolences of each passerby. Listening to the Mom-esqe stories each brave soul was able to share. It wasn’t until this young man stopped in front of me and took my hand, that I realized the impact my mother truly had on the youth she worked with.

  “Mrs. Rockwell was my teacher and advisor her last year teaching,” he started with, as I noticed the rainbow flag pin on the lapel of his suit. “Your mother, saved my life. She listened to me when my own parents cast me aside for my sexual orientation,” he choked back a sob, and I couldn’t help but wrap my arms around him and pull him into an embrace.

  “I’m so very glad she could help you through that time,” I replied, trying to search for the right words in a situation like this. I like to think that I’m pretty good in social situations, but crying and the showing of emotion has always made me slightly uncomfortable.

  “What’s your name?” I asked him, knowing that I’ll head home tonight and add him as a friend on Facebook, just the simple silent show of support is something my mother would have encouraged herself.

  “Edward Minkovich.” He looks towards the ground and kicks a small pebble out of the way.

  “It’s very nice to meet you Edward, and thank you for sharing your story of mom. It really means a lot to me,” I say sincerely. Sometimes I think there are people who are meant to cross your path at certain times of your life. Almost like fate. Today, I think Edward was meant to cross mine.

  It’s all done and over with, and my mother is in an urn next to my father in Lucy’s living room somewhere in the suburbs of Atlanta. It’s been a week since mom’s funeral and I’ve dove back into work like nothing happened. It’s just how I deal with things. Tossing my purse onto the granite countertop, it keeps sliding and knocks my towering stack of ignored mail all over the kitchen floor.

  “Goddamn it!” I yell in frustration, but I think the mail on the floor is the least of my problems. I bend over to pick up the stack and discover the pile of lottery I neglected the other night. A couple Powerball tickets and some scratch offs. Everyone has a vice in life, mine just happens to be in the form of scratchy tickets. Picking the mail up, I toss it back onto the counter and grab my phone to look up the winning Powerball numbers. While the Florida Lottery website loads, I search out a quarter in the junk drawer to scratch the Win for Life tickets I bought. Twenty-five-hundred dollars a week for life wouldn’t be so bad, would it?

  Ignoring the Powerball tickets, I go straight in for the scratchies, working the quarter across the ticket, revealing two losers in a row. Of course, just my luck, I think to myself, picking up my phone and scanning the website for the winning Powerball tickets from last week.

  I match the dates quickly and examine my first ticket, throwing it in the trash when not a single number matches. I bought these the same night my mother was found, before she passed away. They are all tainted anyways. I work thought the second and third ticket, leaving one last quick pick sitting on the counter.

  08-19-42-02-07 — 13

  Reading the numbers, I let out a laugh as I match up the first two. Then I double check them three more times before moving on to the next. This is too fucking weird. Seven, and two…

  “No fucking way,” I say out loud as I start to lose my shit.

  “Powerball… thirteen.”

  All of the numbers match. Every single number. This doesn’t happen to me. This cannot be real fucking life right now. Shit like this doesn’t happen in the real world. Average people like me don’t win the lottery. I can’t believe it.

  Instinctively, I dial my mother’s cell phone in a fog of confusion, snapping back to reality when I hear her voice greeting on the voicemail. Forgetting the entire last week of my life, I feel like I want to cry but my eyes just cannot form tears. The room is spinning and I can’t make heads or tails of anything. I take a few steps into my bedroom and lay down in the middle of the floor, staring up at the ceiling fan.

  “Is this actually happening?” I ask, as if someone is going to answer me. If the voices start to answer, I know it’s time for a white padded room. This is happening. This just cannot be my real life. Good things don’t happen to Luna Mae Rockwell.

  Chapter 3

  It’s Over Y’all

  I sat in the parking lot of my office for probably forty-five minutes, before I got the balls to walk in. Last night, I went to sleep telling myself if those numbers still matched in the morning, and it all wasn’t my mind playing tricks on me, the first thing I would do is go quit my job. I mean, fuck that place and fuck those people. No more nosey asshole realtors searching though the paperwork on your desk, trying to steal client information and marketing pieces. No more asshole millionaires, who treat you like your time doesn’t matter. No more dealing with bullshit lenders, like Quicken Loans, who give you a song and a dance when they ca
n’t secure the loans they pre-qualified. And above all? No more asshole, Ed Bighead, the same guy who stole sales leader out from under my nose three years in a row.

  Yeah, it was personal at this point, and while I really enjoyed many people around the office, most of them could eat a turd and I wouldn’t give a shit. This office–this career–had turned me into such a miserable person. I didn’t have time to myself, let alone time to enjoy the small things in life. Often working seven days a week, because that’s what the job calls for, I couldn’t even tell you the last time I took a vacation. I busted my ass and sometimes it barely made ends meet.

  Being a realtor had genuinely changed my life for the worst, and I knew today was the end of that. Even though my world is about to be turned completely upside down, I finally feel like I am in control for the first time since I started this stupid job so many years ago. I thought it was going to be awesome, I was going to make so much money, and get to live like those guys on Million Dollar Listing. I was so wrong.

  Picking up the cardboard box from my passenger seat, I finally make my way out of the car and into the lobby of the building my firm is housed in. Strolling casually by the few people in the office, I unlock my door and put the box on my desk. It took me years to get to this point. You know, they don’t give you an office when you become a realtor? You have to actually earn it. I had a bullshit cubicle on the floor with everyone else, and it drove me up a wall. I busted my ass for two years, so I could have this stupid room I don’t even want.

  Chelsea, my boss, walks by and I peak my head out to grab her attention. I haven't seen her since before I went out for my mother’s funeral. She was on vacation, somewhere tropical, with all the money she takes from my commissions. Bitter isn’t a good look for me, but apparently, I’ve been wearing it for quite some time.