Should I sit in front with dad, or sit with her in the backset? Either way I’ll beat myself up over the decision I make. The backseat looks like a fucking she-shed. I’m not even sure who did this. My mom, I just can’t see her piling all this crap in the car. Crap for the comfort of someone on their way to die. If dad did this it was out of panic and he’s likely already forgotten he did it. He can’t function. I’ve heard him throw up several times this morning. How will it be when we get home tonight is what is killing me. 

At this moment it is in front of me. All the dread that is to be. I’m out here alone just staring through the closed untinted window. I’m waiting here so someone else will have to walk her out, and watch as she climbs in the car for the very last time. 

A blanket covers the seat in its entirety. It’s not new, but I don’t think I’ve seen it for years. Maybe it was in a closet or drawer I’m not allowed to open, or I just don’t care to. There’s also a huge velvet pillow. Everything is always velvet. And usually green, like this one. There’s also a small box that I want to open. But I won’t. Those are hers. 

From behind me I hear the side door shut. All I can think is I never heard it open and maybe they were calling me and I’m just out here trying not to be a part of this. 

They walk to the car and no one is crying or talking and I step aside before the car door knocks me over. Dad has tunnel vision. Mom is lacking the emotions one would expect to have in this situation. Maybe it’s brewing. Maybe when the tray with the needles and the doctor in his sterile jacket in his sterile clinic room and he asks ‘ready?’ maybe that’s when the dolorously obvious will show up. 

When the door is fully ajar she hops in and settles on the smooth blanket. The smell of her bath fills the space all around us, especially the car. She lies down on the pillow and sighs. Just a sigh. Dad hovers and I can see he’s struggling with the seat belt issue. Secure her for the short ride. Or fuck it, what’s the point. 

Dad closes the door and walks around to the driver side. Suddenly all eyes are on me and where I am going to sit. Back or front. Like I said, there’s no right choice for me in this decision. I squeeze in front and don’t turn around. No matter what, don’t turn around, don’t look. 

The ride is eight minutes. It’s not our first time here. It might be our hundredth time but I hope it’s our last. I mean, how on earth could this possibly happen a second time in your life. For some it happens a lot. That’s what the nurse told us at our last visit. “Euthanasia is common and there’s no need to overburden ourselves with a wild imagination on the subject.” He was looking at me when he said that.