Amos was fourteen years old. He had to think about when he was very young before he could remember when life had been better. This was when his mom and dad were still alive and having enough food and money was not a constant worry. When day-to-day life started to become difficult Amos was too young to really understand or appreciate what was happening, much less why it was happening.

  As far as he knew then the economy had “crashed” as his dad had put it and it had never recovered. This had affected Amos’s dad as well, a few months after losing his job, he found a very difficult, low paying construction job that was quite hard on him physically.

  Nonetheless his father said that he was lucky to have the work but whatever luck it was, it was short-lived as his father and two other men were killed instantly when a building they were demolishing collapsed suddenly, crushing all inside.

  His mom worked as a nurse so at least she was busy and her skills were always in need. Everyone is suffering, his mom had said, either due to poor health, stress, a lack of food or housing or all of it together. Life was too hard to grieve for long.

  As the months had passed by after his father had died, he saw that she was aging rapidly, grey hairs appearing in ever-growing patches along with deepening worry lines becoming etched on her forehead. She seldom smiled and she was losing weight, and he suspected that this was due to her skipping meals so he would have enough to eat.

  One income just wasn’t enough and it felt like they were never able to pay the rent and all the other bills most months. They gave up their phone, their car and even their TV to save money but they were still short. He never complained and he tried to help however he could but most days he felt powerless to change anything.

  Life outside their apartment walls was not any better. Crime and petty theft had skyrocketed and nothing valuable could be worn openly when outside. Most people avoided being out at night, especially in a larger city like Boston where Amos and his mother lived. Out of necessity Amos became hardened and shaped by this environment as well. Everyone did whether they wanted to or not.

  Just over two weeks ago, his mother fighting a fever and looking sick and frail, had said goodbye to Amos and had left for an overnight shift at the hospital. She had never come back. By the next evening Amos had become very worried and was unable to sleep.

  When the sun rose after a long, lonely night, he left the apartment when it was safe enough to do so and walked along the early morning street as quickly as he could. It took nine dark, gloomy blocks to get to the central hospital with building after building all looking the same; curtains drawn, bars over windows, doors shut tight and no one outside.

  Years ago, Amos remembered when there would have been colourful pots of flowers set out and elderly men walking small dogs on the sidewalk. Now it seemed as if those days were long gone, a faint memory of a much better time. He shivered with the chill, it was late spring but early mornings were still quite cold, and he wished he had brought a better jacket to stay a bit warmer.

  When he got to the hospital it took a bit of time to get any help finding his mom, most nurses and security personnel would barely even pay him any attention. At first no one even had heard of his mother until finally, a tired looking nurse took the time to ask what ward she worked in and then took him up to the correct floor.

  Amos was told to wait nearby while she approached an older nurse at the main desk in a large open room filled with too many people and too few chairs. After a few minutes Amos could tell by their low, hushed tones and animated body language that there was a problem.

  Finally, the older nurse stepped out from behind the desk and waded through the tired and weary sitting slumped and uncomfortable in their seats until she got to Amos.

  Once she got close enough for him to read “Cathy” on a tarnished, slightly askew name tag pinned to her chest, she gave him one of those tight, lips pressed together smiles that was supposed to mean something but instead, immediately made Amos certain that there was a problem.

  “Listen sweetie, come sit with me over here” she said and then led him to a stiff, battered old wooden bench that was pushed up against the side wall of the large waiting room. Nobody was sitting here and it was a tiny oasis of privacy in an overcrowded room.

  After he sat down on the edge of the bench, he looked up at her, desperate to interpret what it was that she was hiding behind her grim, emotionless expression. She was an old hand at nursing, a tired soul who had seen much pain and suffering over the years and she was someone who long ago had decided that bad news should be delivered promptly and without delay. It was sudden and harsh, but it was also better for everyone this way.

  “Your mother died yesterday” she said. “It was apparent that she was quite ill on her shift and her health declined rapidly. She was already very weak, and nothing could be done to save her but she passed quickly.”

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  The nurse went on, choosing not to soothe or comfort Amos knowing that the slightest touch or embrace in these situations could release a torrent of emotion. It was better to let them absorb their loss while still in a daze, much of the raw, visceral feelings could be muted this way, at least long enough for her to get away and leave the mourner or mourners alone to navigate their new reality.

  Amos said nothing. He probably knew that this day was coming Cathy thought, and most likely coming soon. Good, then this means that he is much further along in the grieving process she told herself and he will be that much better equipped to adjust and keep going however he can.

  She decided to brave a quick squeeze on his shoulder when she got up and told him “I am so sorry sweetie, I am sure you will be all right in time. When you are ready, your family can come to pick up her ashes for your memorial whenever you are ready to have it.”

  As the older nurse moved back to her desk, Amos stayed seated on the bench and the sounds and activity around him began to fade away. The noise of a dozen conversations, of bodies in motion and in pain and phones ringing unanswered all receded and were displaced by a steadily increasing buzzing in his ears. His chest tightened and his mouth went dry and the humming noise in his ears now shifted into a high-pitched ringing sound.

  The young boy sat there unmoving for many minutes just staring down at the floor. The minutes ticked by while Amos fought an internal battle, fighting back tears and a desperate need to have someone do something for him. You are on your own now, no one is here to help you so you should just leave now.

  At least Amos was somewhat prepared for an event like this. Amos had been noticing the decline in his mother’s health over the past few months and this tragic outcome, was something he feared could happen at any time and now it had. He waited for the tears to begin but they didn’t; he just felt a dull ache in his chest that tightened and squeezed but did not release.

  He managed to stay in control and for a little while longer he just sat on the stiff bench, staring at the dirty, worn floor.

  After some time passed, he got up and made his way out of the hospital but he did not start walking for home. Now that the apartment was certain to be empty he had no desire to go back unless he had to.

  With no other options available, Amos decided to go to his Aunt Marion, this was his mom’s older sister who lived with her three children and the man his mom had referred to as “her horrible husband.”

  It had been a sad inside joke between Amos and his parents. Dion was the reason Amos never saw his cousins or his aunt. Nobody could stand him, at the best of times he was just mean and crude. Most often he was cruel and at times, even dangerous. His mom often complained that they could at least stay clear of Dion but poor Marion, she was stuck with him.

  As Amos got closer to Marion’s building, he refused to get his hopes up. He was not sure why he was even going. Was it out of a sense of duty to inform his aunt of the bad news or was he hoping for a rescue from one of the few remaining family members he had in his life?

  After waiting for someone to leave the building he scooted behind through the closing front door. Almost all intercoms and buzzers had been disconnected to prevent thieves and scammers from tricking residents into mistakenly giving access to the building and besides his mom had often lamented, “no one has the time or money for visiting these days.”

  At the fourth floor landing he turned left down the hall and stopped from memory at the door that had the familiar pattern of peeling paint, gouges, and scars on it. He knocked twice and then called out “Aunt Marion, it’s me Amos, can you open the door?”

  After a slight delay, locks clicked and the door chain slid back and the thin, pinched face of Aunt Marion appeared within the few inches or so that the door had opened. Her hair was pulled back but Amos could still see that it had gone a fair bit greyer than his mother’s had. At least she is still alive he thought unexpectedly and a little bitterly.

  He fought back what felt like the first bit of tears at the thought of his mother and for a difficult moment he swallowed hard and struggled to push his emotions back down. After a pause he said slowly and evenly “mom died, she was sick at work and she died at the hospital, they are going to cremate her and give us the remains.”

  Amos was not sure how aware Marion was of his current situation. She and his mother had been close and had at one time talked to each other almost every day. The cruel brutishness of her husband along with the desperate times that almost every family was struggling with had changed that, especially when they had to give up their phone.

  When was the last time Aunt Marion had seen or spoken to his mom? Amos did not know but in the end, it did not matter for what followed did not really surprise Amos, but it hurt all the same.

  “I’m so sorry honey” she said and then immediately stiffened once she said it. “We just can’t help you, we are barely getting by this month, and I have no idea what we will do next month.” She paused and then looked down and then back at Amos with a deep sadness in her eyes. “It’s really that bad, I’m afraid you can’t stay here.”

  Aunt Marion started to close the door while shaking her head as she spoke. “We’ve only got one bedroom for the four of us and Dion is hardly able to get work; we just can’t help.”

  One of her kids, curious as to who was at the door called out “who is it mum?” Aunt Marion, shaking her head faster now, said to Amos “You’ve got to go now, I’m sorry but you’ve got to go” and closed the door with a firm push and moments later the locks and the chain rattled back into place.

  Amos walked out of the building in a slow shuffle, his emotions were oscillating between solemn, stunned and desperate but he refused to be sad, he could not be sad out on the street.

  This kind of display of weakness, helplessness, whatever you might call it would just attract the wrong kind of attention. He walked home. Slowly but not too slowly, you had to move with purpose out in the open, you did not want to look like a target.

  Once he had made it back to his building he hesitated in front of his apartment door. He so badly wanted to open it and to see both his mom and dad in the kitchen, his father sitting at the table and talking and smiling with his mother while she tended something at the stove.

  Instead, as he opened the door it hit him. The lack of cooking smells or any other signs of life. His apartment was silent and empty and he was completely alone.