When Mama’s health declined, the front yard became overgrown, and the house’s exterior showed signs of wear and neglect—things she had once maintained before she got sick. Dad struggled to pick up the slack between work and Mama’s care, so it all fell to the wayside.
However, recently I’ve noticed the rose bushes she loves so much have been pruned and are blooming beautifully. And the faded red door, which was peeling, has been painted robin blue. She used to paint it a new color every year, and seeing the tradition brought back makes the place feel like home again. It makes me a little less angry with Dad knowing he’s finally making an effort to fix things around here, even if that means he’s hired help. Either way, it shows he’s trying, and that’s what counts.
When I get inside, I kick off my sneakers by the front door and line them up on the shoe rack, keeping the hallway clear. I take the water bottle from my bag, grateful I’d had the foresight to bring it along before hanging the bag on the coatrack. My idea of exercise is chasing an injured pig around my yard, so the long walk here had my lungs screaming and my legs burning.
I find Tess in the living room, curled on the couch, reading. Dad prefers the nurses to stay by Mama’s side, but she seesher alone time as her remaining independence. When he’s out of town, the nurses respect her wishes rather than hover in her room down the hall.
Tess glances up, smiling warmly. “Hey, sweet girl. Earl take out any mailboxes on your way over?”
“Actually, I walked today. I needed the fresh air.”
She closes her book, and sets it on the cushion. “Can’t argue with that. It’s lovely outside, and it’s probably the safer choice.”
One thing I appreciate about Tess is that she keeps to herself, steering clear of town gossip. That’s why I like dropping by when she’s on shift. After a rough day or a mishap while rescuing animals, it’s nice to be here—a bubble away from the chaos. The only thing that would make it better is if Mama wasn’t sick and Tess didn’t have to be here at all.
I lean against the doorframe, taking a drink from my water bottle. “How’s Mama doing today?”
“Good. She had a hearty bowl of cream of wheat topped with diced strawberries, and we followed it up with a stroll outside in the sunshine.”
Tess pushes Mama along the backyard path in her wheelchair. Dad had it built when she was first diagnosed so she could enjoy fresh air in private as her condition advanced.
To this day, most folks are aware that my mama’s health took a turn, though her diagnosis has been kept under wraps thanks to her doctor and nurses. I used to beg my parents to let me confide in my friends, wishing for their support, but they value their privacy and thought sharing the details would attract too much unwanted attention and pity.
Over the years, I’ve learned to shoulder the loss quietly, navigating the burden of keeping this part of my life a secret when all I want is to share it with someone else. But I respect my parents too much to go against their wishes.
“I’m glad her appetite’s up. Any discomfort in her legs?”
“Thankfully not today,” Tess says.
I let out a sigh of relief. “Is she watchingGilmore Girls?”
Tess nods. “Last I checked, she was on the episode where Rory reluctantly agrees to a date with a guy from school, and Lorelai needed a hand with a project, so she went over to Luke’s garage.”
At this point we could probably both recite most episodes from memory.
“Why don’t you take a break for a couple of hours?” I suggest. “I plan to stay for a while.”
I don’t work on Sundays, so I can spend the afternoons here. It’s the one day I’m not rushing around and can fully enjoy my time with Mama.
Tess gathers her bag from the coffee table, slipping her book inside. “All right. I’m heading into town, but if anything comes up don’t hesitate to call me.”
“I won’t.”
She stands, coming over to give me a hug. “You’re a good daughter, Birdie. Your mama loves you very much.”
I rest my head on her shoulder. Since Mama lost the strength to lift her arms, Tess makes a point of hugging me often. The nurses have become like family, and Dad and I couldn’t manage without them.
“Thanks, Tess. For everything,” I murmur.
“Always here for you, honey.” She gives me one last squeeze before drawing back. “See you soon.”
She moves to the entryway to get her shoes, and I head in the opposite direction.
My parents’ room was originally upstairs, but my dad had the dining room and his home office on the main floor converted into a bedroom when the stairs became too challenging for Mama. A walk-in shower is connected, making it easier for the nurses to assist her. Lately she can barely stand for a few secondsat a time, so most of her days are spent in bed or in the reclining chair by the window, to preserve the little energy she has left.
I pause in the doorway of her room when I see she’s sleeping. She’s propped up in bed with a couple of pillows tucked behind her head, the TV on the nightstand playing softly in the background.
Wisps of silver-streaked blonde hair frame her face, the rest gathered into a loose braid over her shoulder, exposing hollowed cheeks. Her features are softened and slightly drawn in, a reflection of her reduced appetite and fading energy.
