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“I was hoping you’d let that go.” She looks down at her lap, looping the tie of her robe over her index finger.
“Nope.” Seriously, we have to talk about it sometime. I’m not letting her bury her head in the sand about this.
“I just needed something to take the edge off,” she says quietly. “I have to do more around the house now that you’re not here.”
Thanks for the guilt trip. “I’m worried about you. If you got those pills illegally, there’s a chance they could have a weird filler in them. It could be dangerous.”
“I’m trying my best,” she argues.
“Well, what about the suggestions from the doctor? Meditation, exercising, limiting naps, the deep breathing—”
“Those things don’t help.”
I take my own deep breath, letting it out slowly. “He said antidepressants help some people too.”
“I’m not depressed. I’m in pain.”
“I understand. But I need you to try something else.” I get up and join her on the bed, squeezing her hand. “If you’re only focused on the pain all day, you’ll never enjoy life again.”
She tilts her head down, and it’s not until a drop lands on our joined hands that I realize she’s crying. I wrap an arm around her, hugging her to my side.
“I want to get better, I do. But it’s so hard.”
I stroke a palm down her arm, soothing her the way she’s done for me countless times. At some point, though, it switched. Now I’m the one doing it. “Do you remember when I was eight or nine and I discovered your old sewing machine?”
She sniffles slightly. “Yeah.”
“And I was so intent on making myself that pink dress.”
A chuckle escapes her. “That’s right. It was so lopsided.”
“And I was upset it turned out so awful. But what did you tell me?”
She’s quiet for a moment. “That you needed to practice more before you’d get good at sewing.”
I nod. “I think this is the same kind of thing. You need to practice changing your mindset. Try the recommendations the doctor gave. If you stay on this path of taking too much pain medication…” I swallow hard, not wanting to finish that sentence. “It won’t be a magic fix, but working on those things will help. And I’ll be here to support you too.”
She leans into me, resting her head on my shoulder. “Okay.” She takes in a shaky breath. “You’re right. I’m going to try harder.”
“Good. I’m proud of you.”
Her exhale turns into a weak laugh. “It should be me saying that to you.”
“Everyone needs to hear it sometimes.”
“I’m proud of you too,” she says after a few moments of comfortable silence. “I know I haven’t acted like it lately. I’ve been… selfish.”
“No, you—”
“I have. I didn’t want to face the fact you’re growing up. And have been for a while. My God, when I was your age, I already had a three-year-old.” She lifts her head off my shoulder, turning to me. “I appreciate everything you’ve done the last few years. I really do. I wouldn’t have made it without you.”
“Don’t say that,” I whisper, my throat thickening.
“It’s the truth.” She squeezes my hand tight. “I’m feeling okay today, all things considered. How about I make breakfast?”
“Mom, it’s noon.”
“Fine, brunch. It’s the weekend. We can do whatever.”