“I love you, Mom,” I call after her.
I don’t get a response.
Chapter Four
The snow begins to fall again the following morning. The house is warm, but I still feel chilled to the bones as I stand at the front window with a hot mug of coffee in my hands. None of us got more than four hours of sleep, but Mom has stopped crying. I’m not sure which is worse, her tears or the silence.
Ryan, a new crisis counselor from the Emerley Family Health Centre, shows up at our house by 8:00 AM. He looks much fresher than I currently feel. He smells better too. I’m still wearing the clothes that I slept in last night. My hair is in a crazy knot on the top of my head.
Mom has only been out of bed for about 15 minutes. She pulled her hair into a clip and changed into fresh clothes at Beth’s insistence. After I introduce them, Ryan and my mom go into the sunroom at the back of the house so they can talk privately.
An hour later, Ryan leads her back into the kitchen. She looks like she’s moving through fog.
“Hey, Mom,” I call out as she brushes past me. “Are you hungry? I was thinking about making some breakfast.”
“No, thank you,” she replies quietly, looking down as she drifts towards the stairs.
“You should eat something. I can make you some toast and tea,” I encourage, trailing behind her.
“I said no, Hannah,” she snaps, “quit pestering me.” Her shaky fingers touch her lips as she chokes back a sob. “I’m sorry, I just want to lie down.”
Nodding, I swallow the lump in my throat and watch her retreat upstairs to the room she used to share with my father. It hurts to see her in so much pain. I wish she would talk to me.
“How is she?” I ask Ryan as I watch her slowly climb the stairs, though I already know the answer.
“She’s in shock. I don’t believe she’s at risk to herself right now, but she’s going to need a lot of support and a revised safety plan.” He pauses for a beat, then continues, “I know you have been caring for your mom for a long time, Hannah. I have reviewed her file, but you have experienced a devastating loss as well. Do you have someone to support you?” he asks gently.
I look across the room at Logan who is currently making more coffee and talking to his mom. “Yeah, I have support. I’ll be okay.”
He looks at Logan for a moment, then back to me. “What about someone to help around the house? To help lighten your load a little?”
“We have a part-time housekeeper. Her name is Francis. Fuck, I don’t know if anyone has even called her to tell her about Dad.” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. I’ll have to ask Logan and Beth, maybe one of them did.
“Good, I’m glad you have some help. I can plan for your mom to go into treatment if you think she needs more support than you can give. Don’t burn yourself out, okay?”
I appreciate his concern. I like that he came prepared, knowledgeable about Mom’s diagnosis and medical history, and that we didn’t need to rehash it all. I don’t have the bandwidth to do it right now. Maybe he will be able to continue to seeMom long term and help her learn more tools to regulate her feelings. Or speak to her doctor about finally getting her on the right medication. It’s become clear what she has been doing isn’t working anymore; I’m not sure it ever did. After seeing so many doctors and therapists over the years, Mom is reluctant to trust, but maybe she will connect with him.
“Is there anything I can do for you? I can make a referral to a grief counsellor,” Ryan suggests with compassion in his voice.
“I’ll let you know, okay? I can’t think about that today.” I rub my fingers in circles over both my temples. Logan clocks the motion from across the room and raises his eyebrows questioning if I need anything. I give my head a small shake.
My attention returns to Ryan when he doubles down. “I know it’s going to be difficult, Hannah, but you still have to make yourself a priority.”
“Make myself a priority? How exactly do you expect me to do that?” I say, my voice is sharper than I intended. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. I’m just tired. I’m sure Ryan is a good man and fully qualified to treat my mom. He doesn’t deserve my attitude. “I’m sorry. This is a lot.” I wave my arm around the room.
“No need to apologize, this is a very stressful time.” He smiles kindly. “If Grace needs anything at all call me directly. You have my cell number.” One of the great things about living in a small town is people go above and beyond to help in a crisis.
After Ryan leaves, I call the funeral home to ask what needs to be done for my father’s funeral. The kind man told me they have been expecting my call. I had no idea, but I am grateful that end of life planning exists and that my efficient father has made his own arrangements and prepaid for his funeral. It’s just one less thing I need to think about.
I must remember to call our family’s lawyer at some point. I know dad told me when I turned eighteen that I was the power ofattorney and executor of his estate, but I don’t even know what that means. I’m sure I will find out soon enough after someone explains it to me. Logan has taken it upon himself to write me a list of things to do and ask.
Beth went home earlier to shower and change but she has returned to pitch in with lunch. She has been an absolute angel and has offered to spend the night again. I know my father’s death must be extremely difficult for her. She has worked as his personal assistant in his real estate office for the last few years. I want to ask her if she knew my dad was having an affair, but I don’t know how. She hasn’t said a word about the posts online but surely, she must know something.
We are all just going through the motions trying to get through the day. I don’t think any of us can process what is really happening. Everything feels surreal.
The community food train starts right after lunch. Maggie, a friend and local bakery owner, presents me with a schedule of who is bringing what meals for the next month. I’m grateful. My cooking skills are limited at best.
“Oh, you sweet child, how are you?” Maggie pulls me into her warm embrace after handing Logan a lasagna and instructions on how to cook it, plus a dozen of her famous donuts. I soak in the comfort she is offering. She smells like sugar and cinnamon. The thought of food makes me ill, but the donuts I can probably handle. They are my ultimate comfort food and Maggie makes the very best.
