November 4, 2016

As I drove to my mother’s nursing home one winter evening, it started to pour. The rain fell fast and heavily, making loud tapping sounds as it crashed onto the roof of my car; it was so bad that I could barely see through my windows. I sighed deeply, wishing that I’d checked the weather forecast earlier this morning; maybe then I wouldn’t have forgotten to bring my umbrella with me.

Just my luck.

I rapped my gloved knuckles on the steering wheel as I waited for the traffic to move forward, which seemed to be going at a snail’s pace. Traffic in Michigan, especially in the bigger cities, was usually bad on days like this one. It rained quite a bit these days; the rain from just a few days before had already frozen up, forming a thin layer of ice that covered the roads, so people had to be more careful when driving. Not to mention the fresh rain making the roads more slippery. Bolts of lightning came from the sky, followed by roars of thunder. I thought of my mother. I hoped that she wasn’t too frightened.

When I finally reached the nursing home and found a place to park—by some miracle, considering how it’s usually quite hard to find parking in Detroit—I shrugged off my winter coat. As soon as I did, I started shivering. It was freezing out, barely even 10 degrees Fahrenheit, and the cold air pierced through my skin like daggers. Under my coat, all I had on was a loose-knit sweater, not nearly enough to keep me warm, but I’d much rather freeze than get wet. Holding the coat over my head to shield me from the rain, I quickly dashed to the front door, letting out a sigh of relief once I’d successfully made it inside without getting soaked.

Now that I was safe from the rain, I stopped holding my coat above my head and let it hang over my shoulder instead. As I walked up to the front desk to check in, a young woman in her mid-to-late-thirties with shoulder-length sandy blonde hair, who I recognized as Mrs. Henry, greeted me with a bright smile, and I smiled back at her.

“Hey, if it isn’t Hannah Stewart, the daughter of Elise Stewart,” she exclaimed, her voice cheery. I giggled in reply. “Glad to see you again. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

Until a few months ago, I used to visit my mother at this place more frequently, so the staff and some of the other patients knew me quite well; I even got acquainted with a few of them. They had always grinned with excitement whenever I’d come and said, “Mrs. Stewart’s daughter Hannah’s here again!” as if I were an A-list celebrity and not just an ordinary girl who comes now and then to see her mother. It did feel nice to have them look forward to seeing me each time, though.

My smile faltered slightly, but I quickly fixed it, smiling wider this time. “Yes, it has. Life’s just been… pretty hectic, I suppose,” I explained, although it came off as more of an excuse than I’d liked. “Between grad school and work, I’ve kinda got my hands full at the moment. I barely have time for anything else.”

Mrs. Henry perked up and sat straighter in her seat, and I could tell that she wanted to know more. I’ve told her before about my being a student at UMich, and she’d always asked me about it. “That’s right: how’s that been going?”

I shook my head and let out an exasperated sigh, my shoulders drooping. “It’s… been going,” I finally answered.

Mrs. Henry gave me a sympathetic look. “I know the feeling all too well, dear. Lately, between this job and raising my kids, I’ve had way too much on my plate. I don’t even know how long it’s been since the last time I had a full eight hours of sleep!” Ms. Henry had told me all about her rowdy kids when I used to come here every week, how they’re always getting into trouble one way or another. When I was here last, another one was on the way, but judging from the way her stomach shrunk, I guessed that she’d had the child while I was gone. That makes 3 noisy, needy children keeping her up until the early hours of the morning.

I couldn’t help but laugh, and she let out a chuckle herself before getting serious again. “In all seriousness, though, I hope things start to look better for you soon. And for what it’s worth, I’ve seen a lot of stuff over the years, so if you ever need something or just want to talk, I’ll be right here. Don’t feel afraid to ask, okay, dear?” She eyed me closely, and the subtle look of pity in her eyes made my heart squeeze.

“Of course,” I croaked. I tried to smile again, but my heart just wasn’t in it.

Ms. Henry gave me a soft, reassuring smile and turned her attention to the computer to sign me in. Once she’d done that, she said, “Alright, you’re all set. We’ve moved your mother to a new room again. She’s waiting for you in the Yellow Room, right down there.”

I thanked her and congratulated her on the birth of her new son before I headed in the direction she pointed to. When I reached the Yellow Room–I could tell from the big yellow sign on the door that read “Yellow Room”--I heard “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles playing faintly through the door. I slowly opened the door, peeking my head inside to make sure I wasn’t disturbing anything. Alison, the nurse taking care of my mother noticed me and smiled, welcoming me in.

Contrary to its name, the Yellow Room wasn’t yellow at all. It was a medium-sized room at the end of the hall with sterile white walls and white bedsheets and carpets and a white couch in the corner next to a white side table. Spare a T.V., a cassette player, a vase of flowers, and a few framed pictures of our family, the entire room was glaringly white. The only difference from her previous room was that it was slightly spacier, and it used to be an activities room, which at the very least eased my worry that she would be bored. It also had a window overlooking the garden in the backyard.

I quietly walked into the room, stopping once I reached my mother’s bed. “Hi, Mom,” I whispered, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. Mom turned around to look at me, her face lighting up upon seeing me for the first time in months. She studied my face for a second, touching my face, my hair, and my arms as if to check that I was still all there, that I was real and not just a hallucination. Tears of joy sprouted from her eyes, wetting her wrinkled cheeks. She pulled me into a tight hug, and I hugged her back, a huge grin spreading across my face even though it felt like she was squeezing the air out of my lungs. Mom is surprisingly strong despite how fragile she looks. After a long, stressful few months, it felt so good to be in her arms again. We stayed like that for what must have been five minutes before she finally pulled away.

“My beautiful baby girl,” she said, placing her hand on my cheek. “You came to see me.”

I smiled, trying my best not to cry. “Of course I did, Mom,” I replied, my voice cracking. “I missed you.”

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Mom dropped her hand from my cheek and held it over mine, stroking my palm gently with her thumb. Her rough, wrinkled hand was a stark contrast to my smooth one. “I did, too. It’s been terrible without you here. They don’t have any real food. All there is to eat and drink are mashed potatoes and watered-down coffee,” she wrinkled her nose with distaste. “Speaking of which, what did you bring today?”

I shook my head disapprovingly, but I dug out some donuts and strawberry milk from my bag and gave them to her anyway. She scarfed down the donuts and milk as if she hadn’t eaten in days. “Elise Marianne Stewart, you ought to take better care of yourself,” I jokingly scolded her. “You should eat more, or you’ll fall even more ill! Look at how skinny you’ve gotten!”

Mom had always been slim, but she used to be more powerful, her presence commanding every room she entered into. Now, though, she was just skin and bone. She looked so frail, as if even the gentlest of winds would be enough to knock her over.

Mom swallowed and waved me off. “Oh, don’t worry about me! I’m doing just fine. Ask Alison. She’ll tell you that I’ve been recovering very well lately.”

“But you still have to eat well,” I insisted. I turned to Alison. “Be honest, is my mother still skipping meals?”

Before Alison could answer, my mother groaned, squeezing my arm with her small, bony hands. “Don’t bother her about that! I told you already, you don’t have to worry about me! I’m your mother, Hannah. Why do you keep babying me?”

She let go of my arm, placing her hands in her lap. She looked down at them, avoiding my eyes. When she started to speak again, her voice was so quiet that I had to strain to hear her. “When you treat me like that, I just… I feel like a failure. I’m supposed to be the one looking after you, making sure that you’re taking care of yourself. It’s my job as a mother. But instead…” she laughed, but she had a pained expression on her face, and her eyes leaked with fresh tears. “Instead, I made you worry about me. And it just–I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel… right.

“I want to be the mother you can look up to, who you can come to when life gets difficult. I want to be the one to pester you, ask you how your day has been, and make sure you’re staying out of trouble, while you get annoyed at me for always sticking my nose in your business, but you love me anyway, and even if I get on your nerves sometimes, you understand that I’m only doing because I love you and I just want–I want the best for you.” She wiped the tears from her eyes, and I could feel my own eyes start to well up.

“I’m so sorry,” she sniffed, her expression softening as she looked into my eyes. “I hate that you have to see me like this, to see me this vulnerable and weak. All I want is to be strong for you so you don’t have to worry, so you can live your life and not be burdened by me–”

“Stop it. Stop saying stuff like that!” I cut her off before she could finish, before she could make me burst into tears in front of her. “You are not a burden. And I don’t mind looking after you like this, so stop saying that. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize how much this bothered you, not being able to be there for me like before. I wish things were different, too, that we could be a normal family again. But I know we can’t, not as long as you’re sick, and that makes me scared. Because… because I just can’t afford to lose you.” Not you, too, I added, but I didn’t say that last part aloud.

Despite my best efforts, the tears started falling endlessly. My breathing was uneven as I began to sob, and I buried my face in my hands.

Mom had been sick for years. She was diagnosed with coronary heart disease when I was still in high school, and since then she’d been in and out of hospitals, often for months at a time. Whenever she was sent to the hospital, I’d always been afraid, and a terrifying thought had always lingered in the back of my mind no matter how hard I tried to push it away: that it would be the time that the illness would get to her and she would be taken away from me forever. Everything changed after she got her diagnosis. Mom was a strong-willed, independent woman. She was my home, my lifeline, the one I could count on whenever I needed anything. But when her illness worsened, the roles were reversed. I had to be the one to remain strong in place of my mother.

About a year ago, when Mom was living alone with my two younger twin siblings (my brother and I had long since moved out), she felt symptoms at around three in the morning. She was having trouble sleeping, and she’d started to feel dizzy and light-headed, so she decided to go downstairs to get some water and take her medication. My little sister woke up when she heard a loud thump from downstairs, so she went down to see what happened, only to find Mom’s limp, motionless body at the base of the stairs. She was unconscious and injured really badly. Thankfully, she was rushed to the hospital and was able to recover, but we thought it wouldn’t be safe for her to stay in that house with nobody to take care of her. That’s how she ended up in this nursing home.

Since then, I visited her every other week, sometimes every other two weeks depending on how busy I was. She seemed to be getting better, but… it was hard not to be scared at times.

I wiped my tears with the sleeves of my sweater, trying to regain my composure. Mom scooted closer and laid my head on her lap, and I let her. I closed my eyes, soothed by the feeling of my mother running her fingers through my hair.

“You won’t lose me. Hannah Stewart, don’t you ever think for a second that you’re going to lose me. I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, so don’t worry about me, you hear?” She demanded. She turned me to face her and looked intently into my eyes as she waited for my answer. I sniffed and nodded.

“Loud and clear,” I let out a strained laugh.

“Promise me, no matter what, you won’t let me be the one to hold you back from living your life. Life is too short to live with regrets. So do the things that make you happy,” she nudged me, a mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “Maybe even fall in love,” she added, causing me to blush, “while you still have the chance. Promise me!”

I swallowed hard. “I promise, Mom. At least, I’ll try to.”

Mom kissed my forehead. “Good girl. I know things are hard right now, but it will get better.” At that moment, another clap of thunder sounded, causing the two of us to jump.

“One day, this storm you’re experiencing will be over, and the sun will come out again, shining brighter than before. We will get past this. Everything will be okay, alright.”

I nodded once again.

“So hold your head up, and smile for me, okay?”

I did as she said. I smiled–for real this time.

My mother squeezed me. “I missed that smile.”

The rain finally stopped later that night. After saying goodbye to my mother, it was time for me to go home. Halfway through the drive, I heard “Here Comes the Sun” play on the radio, the same song that played when I first entered my mother’s room.

Here comes the Sun, doo-doo-doo-doo

Here comes the Sun and I say

It’s all right

As I listened to the lyrics, I immediately thought of what my mother said earlier that day. Maybe someday, things will get better. Maybe I’ll finally be able to calm the storm tearing through my heart.

“It’s all right,” I told myself as the song ended. For the first time in a while, I believed it.