Now, I didn't want to be anywhere but the present, not thinking about what the future holds because I already knew exactly what it would be like, so I didn't have anxiety about what might happen. I feel free, even if what I learned of the future was painful.
Something I loved about reliving my old life was how much my mind remembered, even though so much time had passed. After volunteering at the hospital for six months, I knew it was what I wanted to do, and I planned to be a doctor someday. But after all the problems my family went through, I decided to pursue a career that didn't involve contact with people.
However, there wasn't a day during these ten years when I didn't wonder what would have happened if I had followed that path. And right now, it seemed my body was slowly remembering everything. Although I had forgotten many things, it was easy to relearn them, especially when I wanted to relive this stage of my life. My older self's knowledge,combined with my younger self's experiences, made everything click in a way it hadn't before.
And so a whole week passed since I returned to the past, with me focused on living a quiet life and resting, while I thought about the best way to approach my brother and gain his trust.
On the weekend, I decided to spend time with my family. It was time to stop being selfish and take action. It was Saturday morning, and I woke up just before my 8 a.m. alarm to get ready. In the past, I used to sleep until almost noon on Saturdays. But now I know that was just a waste of time, no matter how tired I was during the week.
I went down to the kitchen and found my mother cleaning the dishes, just what I expected.
"Good morning, Mom, do you need any help?" I asked.
She looked up, surprised. That was something I'd never considered doing willingly when I was young. "Since when do you voluntarily help with chores on a Saturday morning?" There was amusement in her voice.
I shrugged, trying to appear casual even as my heart constricted at the sight of her, so vibrant, so alive, nothing like the pale, thin woman she would become in a few years. "I slept quite well and woke up very rested, so I want to take advantage of all this sudden energy."
And it wasn't a complete lie. One of the things I loved most about being a teenager again was how much sleep I could get without worrying, and how rested I woke up every morning. My 28-year-old self feels messed up all the time, no matter how long I stay in bed.
"Well, I won't say no to that," she smiled, handing me a dish towel. "You can dry while I wash."
We worked in silence for a while, almost in sync. She soaped the dishes while I rinsed and dried. But my mind was more focused on experiencing every detail of her: How shesmelled, how her hands moved delicately, even how her eyebrows drew together when she was concentrating. I missed her so much that I couldn't believe a mundane moment like washing dishes would feel special.
I would give anything to have this moment in my present. I would do the dishes every day just to have her near me, just looking at me. Moments like these are the ones we take for granted until they’re gone. We think love is built on grand gestures, but it’s really the small, ordinary things that stay with us.
There are things our minds simply cannot overcome, and my mother's absence was one of them. Time softened the edges of the pain, but it never erased it. I learned that some voids are not meant to be filled, only carried. I learned to keep going, to smile, to live my life, but the emptiness never left.
And this moment was filling that void in my heart. So I looked for a way to make it last as long as possible.
After we finished the dishes, I followed her to the laundry room, helping sort clothes and measure detergent. When she mentioned needing to tend to her garden afterward, I immediately volunteered to join her.
"Lily," she said, giving me a curious look as we headed outside with gardening gloves and tools, "not that I'm complaining, but what's brought on this sudden interest in household chores? What permission do you need me to give you?"
"A daughter can't help her mother on a random Saturday; she doesn’t have anything else to do?" I knelt beside her in the grass. I wasn't particularly good at gardening, but I wanted to be useful in whatever way I could, even if it meant passing her the tools she was going to use at that moment—anything to keep spending time with her.
I knew my time with her was limited, and I wanted to make the most of it, in case I couldn't save her. And speakingof saving her, it was time to start creating doubts in her head about going to the doctor and getting checked out. Her cancer five years ago had been an oversight; she had ignored warning signs because she was more focused on Leo and me, and I knew that if this time, she focused on herself, things could be different. I just hoped I'd have enough time to fully convince her.
"Do you ever feel exhausted, Mom? Like, more than usual?"
Her hands paused in the soil. "Why do you ask?"
"I just—" I swallowed hard. I wanted to sound as casual as possible, as if it were something I learned in school or the hospital, not as if I were certain something was happening. "You're always doing everything for everyone else. For Dad, for Leo, for me. You never take time for yourself. And I worry that maybe... maybe you're not taking care of your own health."
My mother sat down properly on the grass and took off her gloves to wipe the sweat from her forehead while she analyzed my words. "Sweetheart, I'm perfectly fine. Is something bothering you?"
"We had this biology class," I lied, "about how most deaths from certain illnesses happen because people don't catch it early enough. And it made me think that maybe we should all be more proactive about our health, you know?"
"Oh, Lily," my mother sighed, her eyes softening. "You shouldn't worry about such things at your age. There will be plenty of time for adult problems later. Right now, you should be enjoying being young, carefree."
And that's where she was wrong. There's no exact moment to start caring about others, to start feeling like adults, and to be more than just people living in a home. Together, we were a team, and the lack of trust to talk about these issues was what failed us the first time I lived in this era.
I could see she wasn't taking my words seriously, so Ichanged my approach. "When did you start feeling like an adult? Like, really, an adult and not only because of your age?"
She looked surprised by the question, then thoughtful. "That's a deeper question than I expected on a Saturday morning." She smiled softly. "I suppose it was when I had you. Before that, I still felt like I was playing at being grown-up, even though I was married, had a job, and had a mortgage. But the moment they put you in my arms, something shifted. Suddenly, I wasn't just responsible for myself anymore."
"So becoming a parent made you grow up?"
"In a way, yes. But it's more than that. Being an adult isn't about age, Lily. It's about understanding that your choices affect other people. And maybe when I had to take care of another life that wasn’t just mine, that’s when it shifted on me."
