In an Instant

by Suzanne Redfearn

She knew. Before it happened. And I wonder, How? Was it because she was a prophet, a visionary gifted with preternatural premonition? Or was it exactly as Mo said—a rational, well-considered protective stance based on the simple understanding that no one watches over yours the way you watch out for your own, knowing hers would be saved second if a choice needed to be made?

My brother’s mind works in a very rudimentary way, relying more on impulse than thought to get by. If he sees a cookie, he eats it. If he needs to go to the bathroom, he pulls down his pants and goes. His cognition does not extend to calculated thought or complex emotions such as compassion, empathy, or sympathy. He understands his own needs and acts on base instincts to fulfill them. This isn’t to say he doesn’t love or care. His heart is large as an elephant’s, but things need to be presented in a way he can understand.

Perhaps it is the fierceness with which Aunt Karen is looking at my mom, or maybe it’s the fact that she’s not making any move to help close the window, or maybe it’s because I’m dead and Mo is my best friend, or maybe it’s because she made a promise to Mrs. Kaminski to look after Mo, or maybe it’s because my mom can’t reprocess the decision. Whatever the reason, my mom turns from Aunt Karen and repeats, “Mo, put these on.” Then, without a word, she pivots and walks back into the fray.

Finally Anne seems to be looking after her own (mo included)

I cannot recall my mom ever holding me like that or being so tender. As far as I know, she’s never held Chloe or Aubrey that way, either, and a pang of jealousy strikes as I wonder, if it were me, if she would be as gentle.

Only I notice that my mom did not say goodbye to Oz.

She said Oz was too much for us to handle and that it was time to start looking into alternative solutions, which sent my dad into a fever. He added childproof locks to all the doors, installed monitors in every room, and spent two weeks sleeping outside Oz’s door. It was horrible and tragic and extremely distressing.

Regret is a tough emotion to live with, impossible to move on from, because what’s done is done.

Even with all the exaggeration and less-than-Michelangelo talent, in every drawing, he has drawn me as beautiful. It’s something I’ve never thought of myself as before. Cute maybe, pretty if you’re being kind, but I’ve always been the tall, skinny girl with skinned knees and too many freckles to be attractive in anything but a Pippi Longstocking sort of way. Beautiful is a word used for girls like Mo and Aubrey, girls with curves and lashes and flawless, freckleless skin.

Milquetoast—

realize how awful people are to each other, how a pervasive cynicism exists in most of us that stops us from seeing the best parts of one another.

Don’t just try to be happy when you think of me—be happy. Look at the ocean and smile. Inhale the scent and celebrate. Remember me. Remember that I was never sad for more than a day, rarely for more than an hour. Remember the amazing times we had and what a goofball I was. Remember that I was scared of anything with more than four legs but fearless of adventure. Remember. Carry me inside you as a light that brightens your world and makes everything better. I don’t want to be a void, a hole, a shadow. REMEMBER ME!

again?”

“How dare I what? Accuse you of what I know, that you slept with him, or question what I’m not certain of, whether you’re sleeping with him again?” my dad lashes back.

The problem is loving someone that much and discovering they don’t love you back.”

Are we born with our strength? If so, then should we condemn those who don’t have it?

Remember me, I scream. Celebrate me. Do not box me up and throw me away. Stop avoiding every memory of who I was. I lived, and I do not want to only be recognized for my premature death. That was only the end. Before that was sixteen years of life—good, bad, funny, fun. Finn.

wonder about this, about whether our humanity is determined more by circumstance than conscience, and if any of us if backed into a corner can change. I

“How do I get past it?” she mumbles, not necessarily to him. Hate. Hurt. Guilt. And grief. So much of it that I feel its thickness and its weight, like she is drowning and can’t breathe. “A single step at a time,” the man says, speaking from some profound experience of his own and with deep understanding, making me wonder if all pain might be the same regardless of its origin. “You’re still here,” he goes on. “So there’s not really a choice. An inch, a foot, not necessarily in the right direction, but onward nonetheless.” My mom shudders a deep breath, looks up at him. “Until eventually,” he says, “the present becomes the past, and you are somewhere else altogether, hopefully in a better place than you are today.”

You only live once, and no one has any idea how long that once is going to be, so grab on tight and hold on for the ride and don’t worry about it and don’t look back.

Every journey begins with a single step. Clear your mind of can’t. Fear is what stops you; courage is what keeps you going.”

regret is the most difficult emotion to live with, but in order to have regret, you need to have a conscience: an interesting paradox that allows the worst of us to suffer the least in the aftermath of wrongdoing.

Do you have children? If so, how often have you entrusted them to someone else? Have you ever considered the possibility of something catastrophic happening and, if that person were faced with the dire choice, whether your children would be taken care of? How about the reverse: Would you look after a friend’s child as much as your own in the face of disaster? How much do you think we should trust someone else to look after our children? Consider Ann as a mother. Do you think she was a good mother? How about at the start of the story? Do you think she was too harsh when Finn got in the fender bender? How do you feel about her relationship with Oz? Do you sympathize with her?