Saving Gracie Read Online Free

on the floor. Wrenching sobs erupted from the pit of her stomach and moved upward, the emotional pain choking her.
    Kathryn, in her weakened condition, moved from her chair to where Grace slumped on the floor. She somehow found the strength to lead Grace to the sofa. “It’s okay Gracie, I’ll figure something out.”
    “You can’t fix this!” Grace sobbed, dropping her head to rest in her mother’s lap. She closed her eyes and caught a hint of Obsession , her mother’s perfume.
    “No worries, my love.” Kathryn stroked Grace’s hair. “I’ll never leave you.”
    Grace desperately wanted to stop the clock. As much faith as she wanted to put in her mother’s words even she knew Kathryn couldn’t defy death. Growing up sucked. She wasn’t anywhere near ready. She had calculated that if her mother lived past Valentine’s she’d be on borrowed time. D Day…Death Day.
    ~~~
    The following week, Grace sat with her mother in the small examination room when the oncologist delivered yet another blow.
    “The radiation is complete and chemotherapy is the next step. Unfortunately, I feel it would be entirely too hard on your body,” Dr. Kelly explained. “It compromises the immune system and you’re already extremely weak. I don’t recommend it.” She paused. “All things considered, I think hospice is your next move. I can help with a referral.”
    Kathryn’s face turned a deep shade of red before telling Dr. Kelly she was full of shit and then proceeded with, “I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”
    Grace helped her mother into the car. “I can’t believe you said that to Dr. Kelly.”
    “And I don’t know why you’re upset,” Kathryn said. “I told you I’d figure something out.”
    Grace shut the door and shook her head.
    A few days later her mother reconsidered her decision on pursuing further treatment. A scene from Gone With The Wind , a classic movie they'd watched together a thousand times, popped into her head.
     
    “Quittin’ time.”
    Big Sam says, “Who says it's quittin’ time?”
    Other slave says, “I says it's quittin’ time.”
    Big Sam retorts, “I's the foreman. I's the one that says when it's quittin’ time at
    Tara! Quittin’ time! Quittin’ time!”
     
    Yep, quittin’ time had to be on her mother’s terms. Big surprise. The subject of hospice, however, remained a no-go.
    February 14th, Death Day, came and went. Somehow Grace needed to come to terms with her mother’s approaching death. The damn therapist had been right—she couldn’t stop the process.
    Fortunately Kathryn resigned herself to selling the condo and moving into the study Grace and Adam had converted to a bedroom. “I’ll do it, if I have to,” Kathryn said. “But the piano should come with me, don’t you think?”
    “Sure, Mom,” Grace said, mentally rearranging her over-crowded family room and forcing the irritating “don’t you think” statement aside. She handled the transition of her mom moving in fairly well, with only occasional escapes to her walk-in closet in the master bedroom. Sitting cross-legged on the floor with a towel pressed to her face she could let her guard down. There the tears flowed.
    The kids spent time with their grandmother most days after school. Often Grace heard muffled song lyrics filter from the study. Her mother had a thing about music and that thing, bordering on obsession, trickled down the gene pool. With Grace, however, the link to music more closely resembled an attachment disorder. She didn’t attach to music…music attached to her . Songs stuck in her head. Never instrumentals…no, that would be too calming. But songs with lyrics played over and over in her head, which Grace referred to as her mental jukebox. Let It Be, today’s selection, unsettled her.
    She hated when this happened, especially when she found significance in the words. Banging cabinet doors and rattling silverware, she tried to drown out the song.
     
    When I find myself in