I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

IT’S STRANGE HOW WE ALWAYS give big news to loved ones in a coma, as if a coma is just a thing that happens from a lack of something to be excited about in your life.

Mom is in the ICU at the hospital. The doctor told us she has forty-eight hours to live. Grandma, Grandpa, and Dad are out in the waiting room calling relatives and eating vending machine snacks. Grandma says Nutter Butters soothe her anxiety.

I’m standing around Mom’s tiny, comatose body with my three older brothers—Marcus (the together one), Dustin (the smart one), and Scott (the sensitive one). I wipe the corners of her crusted-shut eyes with a rag and then it begins.

“Mom,” Together leans over and whispers into Mom’s ear, “I’m gonna move back to California soon.”

We all perk up, excited to see if Mom might suddenly jolt awake. Nothing. Then Smart steps forward.

“Mama. Uh, Mama, Kate and I are getting married.”

Again, we all perk up. Still nothing.

Sensitive steps forward.

“Mommy…”

I’m not listening to what Sensitive says to try and get Mom to wake up because I’m too busy working on my own wake-up material.

And now it’s my turn. I wait until everyone else goes down to grab some food so that I can be alone with her. I pull the squeaky chair close to her bed and sit down. I smile. I’m about to bring the big guns. Forget weddings, forget moving home. I’ve got something more important to offer. Something I’m sure Mom cares about more than anything.

“Mommy. I am… so skinny right now. I’m finally down to eighty-nine pounds.”

I’m in the ICU with my dying mother and the thing that I’m sure will get her to wake up is the fact that in the days since Mom’s been hospitalized, my fear and sadness have morphed into the perfect anorexia-motivation cocktail and, finally, I have achieved Mom’s current goal weight for me. Eighty-nine pounds. I’m so sure this fact will work that I lean all the way back in my chair and pompously cross my legs. I wait for her to come to. And wait. And wait.

But she never does. She never comes to. I can’t make sense of it. If my weight isn’t enough to get Mom to wake up, then nothing will be. And if nothing can wake her up, then that means she’s really going to die. And if she’s really going to die, what am I supposed to do with myself? My life purpose has always been to make Mom happy, to be who she wants me to be. So without Mom, who am I supposed to be now?