And to think, everything was going so well. Bitter irony strikes out at me today, just as I was delivering a speech saying how great things were, despite everything I’ve been through.

Murphy’s Law: If something can go wrong, it will.

Lee Stone’s Law: The universe is out to get me.

Maybe this is just the price I have to pay for every benefit I get in life. How many people can say that they’ve found a job that is perfect for them? How many people can say that everyday they are given the chance to change another’s life? Hell, how many people can say that they are given a chance to change the world? I’m in a position where my name can be written in the history books and remembered as a great man, a leader, a visionary, an innovator. I can do some real good on the largest scale imaginable. Money may not buy me happiness, but I can sure as fuck buy happiness for a whole shitload of other people.

Is that worth it?

If this is the price I must pay to be truly benevolent, then maybe I should just suck it up and keep on trudging through the mud. It’s just… I don’t know if I want to. I do genuinely want to help as many people as possible, and God knows my arrogant ass would love to be immortalized in the history books, and damn near worshipped for the rest of eternity, but am I – Lee Stone – really able to put away my immediate selfishness in order to gain such immortality in the long term?

Am I really able to give up my own mother?

I don’t have the answer to that right now. But if I am going to, then I’m forced to ask where it stops. There was Token Fisher, my boys Conner and Anthony, and now my mother, not to mention Shelly, Mandy and my father being driven away from me. Am I destined to live as a fucking hermit? That’s what I’d be forced into if this trend keeps up. I couldn’t possibly be as benign as I would like to be, if I knew that by merely being alive, and in contact with certain individuals, I was placing them in danger of some cosmic or supernatural force wiping them from existence. Now I’m not a religious man or anything, but it gets to the point when so much crap pours down that you can no longer just dismiss it as mere coincidence. Something’s got to be out to get me, but the problem is that nothing in my version of reality fits the bill.

Maybe I’m just wrong, but I prefer not to think that way. If I’m wrong, even just slightly, it destroys the meaning behind every action I’ve ever made. Every charity, every just cause, becomes not a kind deed, but a misguided one that will ultimately lead to the exact opposite outcome as to what I wanted. I can’t have that happen. I have my hands in so many cookie jars, that to be wrong in just one aspect, would cause a ripple effect that would shatter everything.

I can’t allow myself to be wrong.

Ever.

This could just be a test. As I said, I’m not religious, but if I believe something is out to get me, then I have to follow the same religious route. It could even be, that the one thing I believe in above everything else, myself, is what is bringing me down, and so therefore I could be testing myself right now. I could be subconsciously testing my own will to go on and keep fighting. That could explain why I’ve immediately started hammering down the pessimistic thought process. I don’t know exactly what state mum is in, because Stan didn’t give me all the details. She could pull through just fine. All I really do know, is that I owe absolutely everything to that woman, and there is nothing that I wouldn’t do to keep fighting for her, because as Stan and I grew up, she took the same approach. I believe in the old philosophy of “do unto others as you would have them do unto you”. If you fall under the Lee Stone umbrella, it takes a huge action for me to sever ties with you. My mum isn’t only under the umbrella, she’s the one holding it up. I owe it to her to keep optimistic, and to do everything in my power to have her keep fighting. And that’s exactly what I’ll do, even if it means sacrificing my wrestling career, and even the very security of my country and most of the Western world.

She has to pull through.

She can pull through.

She will pull through.

My racing heart begins to die as I keep telling myself that. My car pulls up into the brand new main car park at Waikato Hospital, located in the heart of Hamilton City, the same city that serves as my personal ‘headquarters’ and the closest city (about twenty or so minutes drive) to Cambridge, where my mother resides.

I sprint through the hallways now, a black blur speeding past unsuspecting patients, doctors, nurses and visitors alike. Heads turn, but nobody is truly surprised. This is Death’s home away from home, where he spends quality time with his family: Grief, Sorrow and Anger. The black sheep of the family: Hope, rarely visits, but the father is always there. This is his home:

Fear.

He runs with me now. I am trying to keep positive, and it is doing wonders for keeping my emotions in check, but I’d be lying if my hands weren’t shaking. I just need to know what’s going on. It’s the uncertainty that has me frightened. If I knew what we were dealing with, I could know how to handle the situation. But until then…

I bounce up the stairs now, and hit the second floor where Stan has told me she is. I bust through the door and immediately spy my brother, a drink in hand, grave face hanging down. I hurry over to him, and he raises his head up. Without him saying a word, I think the worst. He continues to walk, and heads to where a curtain is draped around a bed. He pulls the curtain back and reveals my mother, Cherie, lying in a bed.

“Is she…” I begin to whisper.

“In a coma,” Stan replies, his voice extremely scratchy.

“H-h-how?” I stammer.

“Chemically induced.” He is monotonous in his responses, and he takes a sip now from the cup in his hand, which I can smell to be some sort of coffee blend. I don’t drink the stuff, so can’t be certain what. Probably just instant coffee from a machine. “Keeps her from being in pain.”

“What… what happened?” I ask, as I stare at my mother lying there, seemingly so at peace with everything.

“Lung cancer,” he responds, his eyes taking the same route as mine, and not letting her leave his visual field. “Extremely advanced.”

“But…” I search for answers in my own head, and find nothing but more questions. “But… she’s a fairly old woman. She has regular check-ups. I make sure of it! I get the bills and everything.”

“She knew,” he tells me, and a lump forms in my throat that I just can’t swallow.

“Did you?” I ask him, now taking my eyes off her and laying them upon Stan, who continues to stare at our mother. He sips from his cup, and so I ask him again. “Stan, did you know?”

“Yes,” he admits. Now his eyes fall away from her body, but he can’t bring them to meet mine.

“Why wasn’t I told?” I ask, voice showing clear signs of shock. The shock soon fades though, and is replaced with anger. “I should have been told! You’re my brother, you should have told me!”

“You’re right, I’m your brother. But she’s our mother.” His eyes come up to meet mine now, the two-inch height difference feels like it just melts away, as I see his brown eyes well up, and a single tear roll down his cheek. “What was I supposed to do? She didn’t want you to know.”

“Why not?” My rage slips away. I can’t stay angry at Stan, especially not under these circumstances.

“She said that she didn’t want you to be distracted.” I can see confusion in his eyes. This is in no way his fault, and I should not blame, or accuse him. “I don’t know what that meant though.”

“I think I do,” I say, as my heart sinks. She knew a hell of a lot more than I ever told her. It was instinctive. That may be where I got similar instincts from. But then combine that with her motherly instincts, and I really shouldn’t be surprised that she may have known absolutely everything. Is this… my fault?

“I’m sorry Lee,” Stan says, as another tear rolls down his cheek.

“Me too, me too.” I feel my own eyes beginning to dampen, so I squeeze them shut to fight back the flow. “How long?”

“The only thing keeping her alive is the machines.” My stomach tightens. Every single part of my body seizes up. I’m frozen. “She had been under extremely careful supervision at home, and then she just collapsed. There is nothing that can be done. I made them wait until you got here.”

“Wait… for what?” I mumble, knowing the answer already but not wanting to believe it.

“They will turn off the machines as soon as we give the word.” The room spins, and I feel my legs beginning to shake. I stumble over to the nearest chair, and ease myself down into it.

“I think I’m going to be sick.” I feel a wave pass over me. It’s so cold in here, the hairs on the back of my neck prick up. For the first time in recent memory…

I cry.

Stan places his hand on my shoulder as I sniffle away like a baby.

Moments pass.

“I want to hear it from the doctors,” I tell Stan, between sniffs. “I’ve got money, and so if there’s anything that can be done, I want it done.”

“I know…” he says, reassuringly. “You can try to talk to them, but I don’t expect anything, and neither should you.”

I wipe the tears from my eyes and force myself to my feet. I steady myself, and then clasp at my mother’s hand. Stan moves around to the other side of the bed, and takes mum’s other hand in his.

“I’m sorry…” I sob. “I love you.”

“We both do…”

And to think… everything was going so well.