Page 56 of The Unravelings

I stand abruptly, tucking my cigarette behind my ear. “Mom, you should be using your walker.” I frown when she side-eyes me with a vacant stare and her brows furrow. “The nurses said your balance has been really off lately. You need to use it so you don’t fall and break a hip or leg or something.”

From the moment I walked through the dreaded double doors of this facility, Liz, my mother’s most trusted nurse, informed me that my mother had been ill today and her balance had been worse than usual. They provided her with a walker a few months ago, and she refuses to touch it.

She stands there, staring at her clothes for longer than necessary. “They took my pink sweater, Jackson!”

“Where was it?” I ask again, knowing full well she doesn’t have a pink sweater.

Maybe she did many years ago, but I packed every single item of clothing when she moved here. I sold her house to cover the costs. I took on multiple jobs to give her the support she needs.

Then I had to go to my boss on my knees and beg for a chance at real money to support her needs. I knew my mother wouldn’t survive outside these facility walls. I could only do so much before she almost burned down the house, walked outside in the nude, and roamed around the neighborhood without a clue as to who she was.

It progressed so quickly that I didn’t have time to devise a plan that didn’t involve me getting tangled up with the boss and his organization.

And sometimes late at night when I’m staring at the ceiling with a million thoughts running through my mind, I ask myself why I even care so much. Why do I want to provide for a woman who left me to rot? Or who needed me to be the parent instead of the kid? Why do I worry so much about her health and if the nurses are treating her with patience and care?

Why do I continually show up for someone who wouldn’t have done the same for me? Over and over again. Weekly. I’m here, talking with her when she doesn’t know who I am.

Fuck.

I pluck my cigarette from behind my ear and put it between my lips. I tongue the end, aching to feel the nicotine run through my veins.

But I don’t. Won’t. Ever again. Even if the temptation to walk out of this room and light it up to take all my worries away is too great. I won’t.

My mom moves a few pieces of clothing in the wardrobe, the hangers gliding along the metal rod, until she stops, her brows furrowing. “I…I don’t know?” she questions quietly. “I swear it was right here.” She nods a few times to herself and huffs, turning on her heels. “I bet it was that man!” she hisses, pointing toward the empty doorway.

I squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath through my nose, filling my lungs with nothing but oxygen.

“What man?” I ask around the cigarette between my lips.

This isn’t the first time she’s spoken about a man entering her room. She never specifies what her hallucination does or if they talk, but he’s always here.

“He’s tall. Has a hat and a trench coat. He used to come alone, but now he brings a friend.” She grins, almost happy-looking, considering she said the man had been coming into her room while she was supposed to be sleeping.

“He brings a friend now?” I raise a brow, impressed by her memory of him. She can barely remember she’s in a facility with other people. Now, she’s able to describe her hallucination to a T?

My mom shrugs unsteadily, returning to her bed and plopping down on the edge with a dreamy sigh.

“How are you feeling today?” I sigh, placing my unlit cigarette behind my ear again.

Like I always do now.

The constant reminder of what addiction can turn you into sits right in front of me. She’s no longer on any hard drugs. Maybe the occasional pain pill here and there, alongside her other medications, but she had an addiction at one point. And it transformed her into a person I no longer recognized.

She looks me over, taking me in, and she sighs, never truly giving me an answer. Every time I come in to see her, she’s getting worse. Her memory is failing more. She doesn’t want to eat or bathe.

And I know I’m going to lose her soon.

I wish I knew how I felt about that fact.

“Knock, knock!” a cheery voice says, knocking on the door. “I come bearing snacks! Someone said you aren’t feeling very well today, Alicia?” Liz, her nurse, steps inside with a small basket filled with packaged cookies, crackers, and small containers of fruit.

My mom’s eyebrows furrow with confusion. “I’m fine. Who are you?”

“Of course you are. I’m Liz, hunny. You remember? Your nurse,” Liz says softly, stepping into the room. “Wilder,” she greets me with a warm smile. “I was stopping by to give your mom some delicious snacks straight from the common rooms. I think some of her favorites are in there.”

My mom blinks a few times when the basket is lowered in front of her face, and she licks her dried lips. “I’m not hungry.” She turns her nose up at the basket with a huff.

“Alicia, I have your favorites right here. Chocolate chip cookies. Snickerdoodle, straight from your favorite bakery down the road. Grapes, apples, and slices of oranges. You don’t want to try a few?” Liz asks patiently with a smile.