On December 22, there was a knock. My mom looked smaller than I remembered, worn in a way I couldn’t describe. “I was in the area,” she said, which I suspected wasn’t true, but I let her in. The kids were on the couch, absorbed in a Christmas movie, and for a moment, the room felt softer.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said. “I’m just overwhelmed.” She sat on the edge of the couch, hands folded. “I thought you were being lazy.” I raised an eyebrow. “Thanks for that vote of confidence.” She winced. “I said I thought that. Lisa told me what you’ve been handling. I didn’t know.” “I told you I was tired.” “Not how tired.” I considered it. “Would it have changed anything?” She looked at her hands. “Maybe not. That’s on me.”Continue reading…
