The Promise
He stood at the bottom of the stairs, the milkshake heavy in his hand.
He’d made the drink himself, just the way she liked it, blending the vanilla ice cream and heavy cream in the creaky old blender mom had purchased on Black Friday fifteen years ago for the unbelievably love the price of five dollars.
The extra ingredients were new and potent.
She’d always been the strong one.
The man took a single step onto the stairs.
He’d made a promise.
When he got the flu and dehydrated during the summer between first and second grade, she’d been the one to take care of him. First at home, when even water made him vomit, Then when the doctor put him in the hospital. She stayed in that cramped room, with him, for almost two weeks. She held his hands as the vampire-like nurses drew blood again and again. She held him after the multiple IVs were inserted, and he couldn’t stop crying from fear and pain.
The man took two more steps toward the landing and the door.
He’d made a promise.
When she left his father, she sat him down and explained why. She made it very clear that it wasn’t his fault. She made the transition as easy as possible. Oh sure, there was tension between his parents, but she did her best not to drag him into it.
Three more steps and the man almost attained the landing an ominous rectangle set in the second-floor wall.
He made a promise.
When, in the eighth grade, the neighborhood bully made him the target of his malice, she’d stepped in. The day the bully proclaimed he was going to beat him into a pulp, she stepped up. The bully was over six feet tall and weighed, maybe, two hundred pounds. She was barely five feet tall and weighed a hundred pounds wet. She didn’t care. At the bus stop that morning, she confronted the bully and scared him off.
That day she was the young boy’s hero.
The man's feet reached the second-floor plateau.
He’d made a promise
Of course, there were exceptions. After all, she was a human being and not some perfect saint. During the birth of his little brother, she was badly hurt. These were in the days before doctors were careful when they prescribed pain killers. She became addicted to the potent narcotics and would battle the demon of addiction for the rest of her life.
But she still tried with all her might to do the best for her children.
Taking three steps toward the door, the man’s hands began to shake. He nearly dropped the cold glass but managed to hold on by force of will.
He’d made a promise.
When she decided to confront her problems, she moved them into the home of the boy's grandmother. And when she temporarily lost control, she allowed them to move in with their father because it was the right thing to do.
Even lost in her drug haze, she attempted to do right by her children.
Taking the doorknob in his free hand, the man took in a deep breath. He’d promised, and there was no way out that wouldn’t leave him wracked with guilt and shame.
When the boy became a man and started his own family, she was there. She proved to be a grandmother worthy of the title. She loved her grandchildren, and much like when she allowed her boys to leave and live with their father, she did her best to do right by them.
The man opened the door and took a step inside.
He’d made a promise.
The sickness fell on her like a Midwest thunderstorm.
The man walked to the hospital bed and looked down at her. The beeps of the monitoring equipment coupled with the hum and hiss of the oxygen supply filled the room with a dark symphony.
He’d made a promise.
She looked up at him. Despite the pain, her eyes were clear and aware. That was the worst part. Her intellect was still trapped in her tumor ridden form.
“Are you thirsty, mom?” the man asked.
She nodded.
Turning the straw in the right direction, he lowered the glass.
Opening her mouth, she took in the straw and began to drink.
His hand never wavering, he held the glass until she finished the intoxicating, and sweet concoction.
He’d made a promise.
“Was it good?” the man asked, setting the glass on her bedside table. A table filled with empty bottles of sedatives and pain killers.
She nodded, a peaceful smile on her face.
Grinding all of the pills into a fine powder had taken the man the better part of the morning and his hands hurt when he was done.
But he’d made a promise.
“Why don't you take a nap mom,” the man said, fighting back hot tears.
She nodded, but before she mouthed the last words of her life.
Thank you, my sweet boy.
Leaving the room, he softly closed the door.
Finally, the tears came.
He’d made a promise, but he didn’t have to like it.
The End.