You be as angry as you need to be,” she said. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. Not your grandma, not your dad, no one.
And if you need to break things, then by God, you break them good and hard.
He couldn’t look at her. He just couldn’t.And if, one day,” she said, really crying now, “you look back and you feel bad for being so angry,
if you feel bad for being so angry at me that you couldn’t even speak to me,
then you have to know, Conor, you have to know that it was okay.
It was okay. That I knew. I know, okay? I know everything you need to tell me without you having to say it out loud. All right?”
He still couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t raise his head, it felt so heavy.
He was bent in two, like he was being torn right through his middle. But he nodded.
He heard her sigh a long, wheezy breath, and he could hear the relief in it, as well as the exhaustion.
“I’m sorry, son,” she said. “I’m going to need more painkillers.”
He let go of her hand. She reached over and pressed the button on the machine the hospital had given her,
which administered painkillers so strong she was never able to stay awake after she took them.
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