I hadn’t realized how fragile my mother had become until I saw her in that hospital bed, an IV cruelly jabbed into her pale, thin arm. She couldn’t weigh more than a hundred pounds, eyes that were once bright and active now sunken and sparkless.
This couldn’t be the woman who raised me, the tough-but-loving beat cop who played both mother and father in my upbringing. The woman who taught me how to read and how to shoot. The woman with such inner strength that I modeled my life on hers.
“The doctors are overreacting, Jacqueline. I’ll be fine.” She offered a weak smile in a voice that wasn’t hers.
“Your hip is broken, Mom. You almost died.”
“Didn’t come close.”
I held her hand, feeling the fragile bones under the skin. My veneer started to crack.
“If Mr. Griffin hadn’t made the police break down your door, you’d still be lying on the bathroom floor.”
“Nonsense. I would have gotten out of there soon enough.”
“Mom… you were there for four days.” The horror of it stuck in my throat. I’d called her yesterday – our twice weekly call – and when she hadn’t answered, I assumed she was out with Mr. Griffin or one of the other elderly men she occasionally saw.
“I had water from the bathtub. I could have lasted another week or two.”
“Aw, Mom…”
The tears came. My mother patted the back of my hand with her free one.
“Oh, Jacqueline. Don’t be upset. This is what happens when you get old.”
“I should have been there.”
“Nonsense. You live a thousand miles away. This is my dumb fault for slipping in the shower.”
“I called you yesterday. When you didn’t pick up, I should have…”
My mother shushed me, softly.
“Sweetheart, you know you can’t play the what-if game, especially in our profession. This isn’t the first time this has happened.”
She couldn’t have hurt me more if she’d tried.
“How many times, Mom?”
“Jacqueline-”
“How many times?”
“Three or four.”
I didn’t need to hear that. “But you never hurt yourself, right?”
“I may have had a cast on my elbow for a while.”
I fought not to yell. “And you never told me?”
“I’m not your responsibility.”
“Yes… you are.”
She sighed, her face so sad.
“Jacqueline, when your father died, you were the only family I had left. You were also the only family that I ever needed. I would never, ever allow myself to become a burden to you.”
I sniffled, found my center.
“Well, get used to it. As soon as you’re released, you’re moving in with me.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Yes, you are.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Please, Mom.”
“No. I have a very active social life. How could I get intimate with a gentleman when my daughter is in the other room?”
Reluctantly, I played my trump card.
“I spoke with your doctors. They don’t feel that you’re able to take care of yourself.”
Mom’s face hardened.
“What? That’s ridiculous.”
“They’ll only release you from the hospital into my custody.”
“Was it that Dr. Kingsbury? Smarmy little bastard, talking to me like I’m a three-year-old.”
“You don’t have a choice, Mom.”
“I always have a choice.”
“It’s either me, or assisted living.”
I watched my words sink in. My mother’s biggest, and only, fear was going into a nursing home. Before meeting my father, she worked briefly as an activity director in a continuing care facility, and swore that she’d jump in front of a bus before ever checking into one of the “death hotels,” as she called them.
“No way in hell.”
“Mom, I can invoke power of attorney.”
“My mind is sound.”
I made myself keep going, even though I hated this.
“I have friends in the courts, Mom.”
My mom turned away, shaking her head.
“You wouldn’t do that to me.”
“Look at me, Mom. How far do you think I would go to protect you?”
Mom continued to stare at the wall. Tears streaked down her cheeks.
“Bullying an old lady. Is that how I raised you, Jacqueline?”
“No, Mom. You raised me to care. Just like you said: You’re the only family I’ve ever had. You took care of me for eighteen years.” I squeezed her hand. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”
Mom pulled her hand away.
“I’d like to be alone.”
“Please. Don’t be like this.”
She pressed the button to page the nurse.
“Mom… please.”
A white-clothed figure poked her head into the room.
“How are we doing, Mrs. Streng?”
“I’m very tired. I’d like to take a nap.”
The nurse looked at me, sympathetic.
I stood up, briefly fussed with the get-well flower arrangement I’d brought, and then turned to leave.
“Nurse,” Mom’s voice cracked. “Please make sure I don’t have any visitors for the next few days.”
“Perhaps you’ll feel differently tomorrow, Mrs. Streng.”
“No. I’m sure I won’t.”
The tears came again. I took a deep breath and stopped my chest from quivering.
“I love you, Mom.”
For the first time ever, she didn’t respond with “I love you too.”
The nurse put her hand on my shoulder, giving me a gentle push.
I took one more look at my mother, and walked out of her room.