Page 17 of Love Notes & Lifelines
I don’t say it out loud as my rideshare driver friend weaves through traffic, trying to get me to Mindful Moments, but I shout it in my head like a demented people-eater.
I have a love-hate relationship with five o’clock now, but if I have any chance of my mom remembering me, it’ll happen around that time.
Each visit becomes harder. I hate this disease that’s slowly eating away at her mind until she’s nothing but a shell of who she once was. And sometimes it turns her into a person she’s never been—angry, violent, and sad.
Even though I rationally understand it all stems from fear, it doesn’t help when it’s happening in the moment.
Finally, Eddie pulls up in front of Mindful Moments. He has an uncle here, so I stop in to visit Uncle Joe in exchange for the ride. So far, the deal has worked out for us both. Eddie visits once a week, and I check in on him the other days. It’s hard to experience the slow deterioration of someone you love, so I never hold his choices against him, and he allows me to cry silently in the back seat without trying to comfort me.
There is no comfort for this disease.
“Thanks, Eddie.”
“Thank you, kid. You sure you don’t want me to come back for you?”
I glance up at the sky, happy it’s clear after so much rain. “Nah, thanks. I’ll take the bus and walk the rest of the way. It gives me time to process.”
He simply nods because he gets it. I wait until the car pulls away, suck in a deep breath, and send up a little prayer that today will be a good day.
But I still drag my feet to the front entrance as though my legs are trudging through three feet of mud. My mother’s my best friend, but some days, the ones where I’m a stranger, drain all hope from my heart. I’m losing her, and I have a front-row seat to see it happen in slow motion.
Lucía rounds the corner when I pick up the tablet to sign in. “Oh, Stella, hon. I’m glad I caught you. I’m sorry, sweetie. We had to sedate her about an hour ago.”
Tears sting my eyes. “What happened?”
“She was hitting other patients, and she clawed at one of the guards. She still believes Mrs. Jones stole her blouse. We tried to calm her for close to thirty minutes before making the call.”
I shake away her pity and take away her guilt. “It’s okay. Can I still sit with her for a few minutes?”
These are the times I can cry for a loss that’s already happened without confusing my mother more.
“Of course, hon. Take your time.”
I’ve memorized the sterile halls that lead to my mother’s room over the last few months. As I follow the yellow walls on each visit, I silently pray I’ll be able to earn enough money to keep her here when the bribe I accepted runs out.
Laura Anderson was once the life of the party. The hostess with the mostest even though we had little to our name for as long as I can remember, but she’d give you the shirt off her backeven if it were her last. We’re so different, but I’ve never loved anyone more than I love her.
Would she find me a disappointment if she knew how I hid at parties or that I was rarely invited in the first place? Did she ever find it odd that I preferred time with her to birthday parties with other kids? Did she know I made those decisions so she didn’t have to pick up an extra shift to put cake into the mouths of girls who made fun of me behind my back?
When my mother passes, I’ll be an orphan, just like Beck’s nieces. That thought causes a flood of emotion that nearly knocks me off my feet. Even at twenty-nine, I feel the weight of being completely alone in life.
God, those poor little girls. I don’t pray often, but tonight, as I lower my face to my mother’s bed and purge myself of sadness, I beg for them to be spared any more pain.
It’sdark when someone nudges my shoulder. Lifting my head from my mother’s bed, I find her beautiful face smiling down at me. “Go to bed, dear,” she says with a shaky voice. She’s far too young to be taken by this horrible disease. “You’re going to do great things in college, Stella. And I’ll only be a phone call away.”
Her eyes drift closed as I stand. It’s the same memory she replays often. The night before I left for college. I was terrified, but she held me close.
The lump in my throat cements itself in place, so I lean over and tuck her in, then carefully kiss her cheek.
“I love you, Mom.” It’s a whisper that’s met with silence like so many times before.
What I wouldn’t give for her to tell me she loves me just one more time.
I hadn’t meant to fall asleep, so by the time I check in on Uncle Joe, he’s been out for hours. I tiptoe out of the facility that’s bleeding me dry but keeping my mom comfortable. I don’t care if I have to sell a kidney to keep her here. I’ll do whatever it takes—I have done whatever it takes—regardless of who that makes me. She gave me life, so the least I can do is make sure her time left is comfortable.
The cool air of an early spring evening slaps me in the face when I step outside. I’ve never thought about the scents of seasons, but spring does carry something like hope on its cool breezes.
It’s after ten, and all my fears kick in to overdrive as I walk into the darkness. It’s too late to call Eddie and I just missed this hour’s bus, so I duck my head, lengthen my stride, and count my steps while I wish I had ears like Dog’s that could listen in every direction for an unknown threat. Finally, thirty minutes later, I step onto the walkway leading me home.
