“You just fainted, Mom. Please let me do this small thing for you.”
While she fussed with the pillow, all I could think about was that this pattern couldn’t continue.
With a heavy sigh, she pulled at the hem of her favorite day dress—navy with white flowers, bought last spring. “I got a grass stain.”
That much I could fix. “Go change and I’ll spray it for you.”
“I think I want to lie down.” She rubbed her temple, reminding me uneasily of the possibility of a concussion.
“I’m not sure it’s a good idea to sleep right now.”
“I’m exhausted, Amanda. I’m not sleeping at night.” She turned and walked toward her room, waving over her shoulder while I shoveled another pile of blame onto mine. “Let me take a catnap . . . Wake me in fifteen minutes.”
I supposed that couldn’t hurt, and no one could withstand the silent pleading of the bags beneath her eyes. I followed her to her bedroom, where she kicked off her shoes, changed into a cozy tracksuit, and lay on the bed.
“Fifteen minutes.” I grabbed the stained dress from the end of her mattress, then closed her door and went to the laundry area to apply a stain remover. On my way to the kitchen, I collected two discarded mugs and a plate. A cold, burned potpie sat on the counter near the sink. Had it been out all night? I sniffed it, wrinkled my nose, and scraped most of the contents of the pan into the trash.
Through the window above the sink, the swaying of the sycamore branches at the edge of the backyard drew me into a trance. Twice in one week my mom had burned food, and now a random collapse? I swayed, dizzy because the person who’d been my rock was crumbling like she had in the weeks following Dad’s funeral.
Oh, how she’d shrieked when Erin had suggested we cremate Dad and toss his ashes in the bay. For days after, she’d barked at us for the smallest reason.
But much worse were the weeks that followed. Quiet, long days when she’d refused to dress or shower. When I’d stopped by at random times to find her napping or crying. Kevin had temporarily taken over handling her bills for her, but she rebuffed my offer to pack up Dad’s things for three months.
Yet even with that erratic behavior I’d never sensed her being a danger to herself. Not like now. This mental fog seemed rapid, but then again, perhaps I’d missed it unfolding under my nose exactly like I’d missed Lyle’s affair.
I might cry if I had any tears left. Tears hadn’t helped me anyway, and they sure wouldn’t help my mother.
The last bits of gravy and peas fell into the sink as I rinsed the pie pan before putting it in the dishwasher. Like pieces of my life, the mess circled the drain and disappeared while I watched it happen.
I shook out my hands, which had balled into fists, and got to work. Within ten minutes I’d finished loading the dishwasher, wiped the counters, refolded the throw blanket, fluffed the sofa cushions, and vacuumed the living room. The instant gratification restored some sense of control, and perhaps offered a bit of penance, too.
Mom clearly needed some TLC, so I fixed her favorite turkey and Dijon sandwich. After pouring a glass of diet soda and rinsing a cluster of grapes, I took the plate to the dining table, where the place setting for one pinched my heart.
If I closed my eyes and concentrated, my dad’s deep voice and pleasant chuckle still echoed off the walls. Mom used to complain about the nonstop music and the tinkering noises coming from the basement or garage, but now she probably missed those things the same way I’d been missing the otherwise annoying sneeze from Lyle’s seasonal allergies.
Out of the blue, I recalled the morning of my wedding. I’d slept in my old room and gotten dressed here, too. My mother had gone from pressing Erin’s bridesmaid gown—which had gotten wrinkled lying at the bottom of Erin’s closet for weeks—to helping fasten the myriad tiny buttons up the spine of my dress.
“How do I look?” I’d asked my mother and Erin once my veil was in place. “Too much?”
Lyle and I had decided on a church service, with my siblings serving as the best man and maid of honor because he would have no family in attendance.
Mom clutched her chest. “Perfectly gorgeous.”
I looked at Erin, which wasn’t easy given her rather open distaste for Lyle. She winked. “You look like a picture-perfect cake topper.”
Mom tossed her an annoyed look and then opened the bedroom door so I could go out to the living room, where Kevin, Marcy, and Dad were waiting. It was one of the few times in my life where I’d had my dad’s undivided attention. He teared up upon seeing me in a fluff of white silk and organza, then gently hugged me so as not to muss my gown and makeup. “My beautiful little star, you could not be any prettier. I hope Lyle treasures you as we do.”
He winked then, much like my sister had.
Now, not even two years later, I stood in that very spot in the living room—my mother a widow, myself on the verge of divorce. While I’d give anything for my father to be alive, I was glad he never saw what had become of my marriage.
When I went to wake my mother, she looked puny in a bed that seemed too large without my dad there to fill the other side.
I touched her shoulder. “Mom.”
Her eyes opened. “Amanda?” While she reoriented, I noticed the sleep-aid pill bottle on the nightstand and frowned.
“I forgot you were here.” She pushed herself upright.
I shook the bottle of pills. “Have you been taking a lot of these lately?”
She nodded. “I told you I’m having trouble sleeping.”
“I didn’t realize it was this bad.” I returned the bottle to the nightstand.
“It started after your father died, but it’s gotten worse lately.” She slipped her feet into her slippers.
She didn’t need to say the words for me to assume the blame. Lately, lugging guilt around was my full-time job.
“When was the last time you took one?” I crossed my arms.
“This morning around seven, but only because I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. I finally dozed off for a bit this morning, but maybe the pill hadn’t fully worn off by the time I went to the mailbox.” She must’ve sensed my concern, because she got defensive. “I’m not overmedicating, Amanda. I’m fine. Everything is fine.”
“This time,” I almost said, but didn’t want to further agitate her.
“Understood.” Food should help absorb whatever drugs remained floating around her system, so I grabbed her hand. “I made you a sandwich. Come eat.”
She looked at me as if I were walking her into some kind of trap, but she relented. “Thank you, honey. That was thoughtful.”
Well, almost everyone would say I was nothing if not thoughtful. What they didn’t know was how I sometimes wondered if loneliness drove my compulsive need to please others as much as kindness did.
The starkness of that solitary place setting struck again. “I’ll sit with you.”
Meals for one sucked—to borrow my sister’s vernacular. It occurred to me, sitting with my mother now, that I should’ve invited her over for dinner more often this past year. Without Dad’s company or her old job, each hour had to feel like a month. She took daily morning walks with her buddy Lorraine Dahill and volunteered for a few hours each week at the town library, but that left many hours to fill.