“Morning, Mama,” I whisper.
I’m relieved she seems to be doing well this morning, a small bright spot in what’s become increasingly difficult days.
The kittens are nestled between us. Mama helped me finally choose their names—Logan and Rory, named after her favoriteGilmore Girlscharacters.
Logan is batting at the tassels on the blanket draped over our legs. He has endless energy and refuses to sit still for even a moment, while his sister, Rory, is as mellow as can be, curled up on Mama’s lap, purring softly as she cracks open an eye before closing it again. She’s clearly not ready to start the day—and honestly, I can’t blame her. It was a long night.
“Can I get you anything?” I ask Mama.
She gives a small shake of her head. “No… just s-stay with me.”
I squeeze her hand gently. “I’m not going anywhere.”
I was scheduled for a shift today, but I called my manager, Ed, last night to tell him I couldn’t make it. Thankfully, he was understanding and didn’t make a fuss.
Mama lets out a relieved sigh. “Good. Now t-tell me, how is Nugget doing? I w-wish you’d have brought her too.”
She’s always encouraged my love for animals. When I was little and rescued a stray puppy from an alley, she persuaded my dad to let me keep it. Years later, in middle school, I brought home a pig that was being sent to slaughter, and she helped me find him a good home since our backyard wasn’t big enough to keep him.
Running the sanctuary is my way of honoring our shared love of animals, even though she can’t participate alongside me. During my visits, I always give her updates and bring along my rescues whenever I can. Nugget is a regular visitor and loves curling up on Mama’s legs. We recently discovered she has a particular fascination with Kirk fromGilmore Girls, and anytime he’s on the screen, she fluffs up and emits a series of contented clucks.
“Nugget thinks she’s the kittens’ mama.” I pull up a picture on my phone of her snuggled up with Logan and Rory, their heads poking out from under her wing.
“I s-suppose that means you have to keep them, then?” she questions, letting out a small laugh that wavers with effort.
“You’re right.” I scoop up Logan, who swats playfully at my fingers with his tiny paws. “They’re officially part of the family. I couldn’t bear to separate them.”
I’m not just keeping them for Nugget’s sake—but for mine too. I get attached far too easily, and each goodbye to a rescued animal hurts more than the last. I’m constantly coming up with excuses to keep them even though I’m running out of space and time to care for them all.
Mama rests her hand over mine. “I’m so proud of you, sweet girl.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, determined not to cry before breakfast. Every touch, every shared moment is precious—especially ones like this, when she reaches out on her own, even knowing it might be painful.
“You made me who I am,” I murmur.
“Not true. Your courage and b-bravery come from right here.” She slowly lifts her hand to my heart. “You’re a r-remarkable woman and have accomplished so much despite everything life has thrown at you.”
“I’m not sure Dad would agree,” I mumble.
I haven’t told her about my night in jail or how disappointed he is that I can’t stay out of trouble. It would only ruin the fragile peace we’ve managed to hold on to.
“Oh, honey, of course he would. Your f-father loves you more than you know.” She reaches out with a trembling hand, brushing my cheek. “He just h-has trouble showing it sometimes, especially when his personal life and c-career pull him in different directions.”
I set Logan down on the bed and rest my head against her shoulder. “I miss the way things used to be.”
Life before she got sick was ordinary in the best way. Sundays meant brunch at the diner, and Tuesdays were for Mama’s homemade pizza and a movie. At night, she and Dad would take walks around the neighborhood while I sat on the porch reading a book. They held hands and gazed into each other’s eyes, their love obvious in every glance. It breaks my heart that the carefree family we once were is now nothing more than a distant memory.
“Look a-at me,” Mama whispers.
I find a solemn expression on her face when I do.
“What is it?” I ask.
“You h-had to grow up far too quickly because of my diagnosis, and I r-refuse to let you put your life on pause for me any longer.”
“What do you mean? I haven’t–”
She raises a brow, stopping me mid-thought. “Birdie, y-you spend all your free time in this house, and I know how lonely it’sbeen not having anyone to s-share what you’re going through, aside from your father and me.”
