time. Weeks, if not months. And with thoughts of Haddie filling my brain, I worried it could take an entire year to get the right amount of focus necessary to write the rest of the book.
"You'll figure it out, man." Evan patted me on the back. He drained his beer and leaned against the kitchen counter. I hoped he was right. If not, it was going to be a long year.
When I returned home from work on a bitterly cold December afternoon, the lights inside the condo warned me that my mom was home from work. Usually I arrived before her and was able to relax by myself for a while before putting on a brave face and making supper. A ripple of unease drifted through my limbs as I parked my car. Deep breaths, Hadley. She's still the same woman she's always been. Only she wasn't and I knew it.
The smell of garlic hovered in the air and I heard the sound of oil sizzling in a pan. At least she's cooking.
I placed my purse near the door, taking a puff from my inhaler as I walked into the kitchen. The stone face of my mother greeted me.
"Hello, honey." The words fell from her mouth with a half smile. The half smile that I had seen for about two years, ever since she became heavily medicated so as not to be a danger to herself anymore. The medication was effective, but the result was a woman drained of almost all emotion. No opinions, no tears, no anger. Nothing. I'd learned to let it roll off my shoulders as best I could. But, most days I felt like an orphan. The woman who raised me, who supported me the first nineteen years of my life, had vanished.
I tried to see her as a roommate rather than a mother. And sometimes that helped. But, most of the time I found myself yearning for the mom who used to sit at the edge of my bed and talk to me for hours about boys, friends and movies. I missed the mom who called me every week my first semester at college and sent care packages every chance she got. But, that was before our world was turned on its side. Before my dad's diagnosis. Before everything in our lives seemed to change for the worse.
"Hi, Mom. How was your day?"
"Same," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. My mom worked for a local library. It seemed to be the perfect job for her since losing him. Every day she worked in the quiet. It was peaceful and placid. It helped calm the destructive voices that used to loom in her brain.
"I got my 90 day review at work today," I offered, knowing she wouldn't take the initiative to ask anything about my day. She stirred the onions and garlic in the saucepan. I saw a slight nod and realized that was all the recognition I would get. Shaking my head, I took a deep breath and walked towards her, rubbing my hand on her back lightly. She turned to me with another small smile.
Her doctor once told me that despite her lack of emotion on the outside, I needed to give her time. That she'd eventually adjust to her medication and be the Allison Foster that I grew up with. So, I wouldn't give up on her. I still showed her kindness and affection in the hopes that one of these days, she'd place her hand on mine and give me the warm smile I had missed for so, so long.
I waited another minute, even though I knew she wasn't going to congratulate me. With a sigh, I shook it off and took two plates from the cabinet, carrying them with me to the table.
"What's for dinner?" I asked, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.
"Taco salads," my mom replied as she added flank steak to the sizzling pan.
"Sounds great," I replied, placing assorted fresh vegetables on the granite countertop. This place was relatively new. The doctors suggested we move out of our old house. Too many memories. For my mom, it was too much, too much of him. Too much loss. But, for me, this place was sterile, foreign and not my home. It only made me miss him more.
The only sounds to be heard were the clinking of forks against the ceramic plates as my mom and I picked at our salads.
"Tell me about your review," Mom
"You'll figure it out, man." Evan patted me on the back. He drained his beer and leaned against the kitchen counter. I hoped he was right. If not, it was going to be a long year.
When I returned home from work on a bitterly cold December afternoon, the lights inside the condo warned me that my mom was home from work. Usually I arrived before her and was able to relax by myself for a while before putting on a brave face and making supper. A ripple of unease drifted through my limbs as I parked my car. Deep breaths, Hadley. She's still the same woman she's always been. Only she wasn't and I knew it.
The smell of garlic hovered in the air and I heard the sound of oil sizzling in a pan. At least she's cooking.
I placed my purse near the door, taking a puff from my inhaler as I walked into the kitchen. The stone face of my mother greeted me.
"Hello, honey." The words fell from her mouth with a half smile. The half smile that I had seen for about two years, ever since she became heavily medicated so as not to be a danger to herself anymore. The medication was effective, but the result was a woman drained of almost all emotion. No opinions, no tears, no anger. Nothing. I'd learned to let it roll off my shoulders as best I could. But, most days I felt like an orphan. The woman who raised me, who supported me the first nineteen years of my life, had vanished.
I tried to see her as a roommate rather than a mother. And sometimes that helped. But, most of the time I found myself yearning for the mom who used to sit at the edge of my bed and talk to me for hours about boys, friends and movies. I missed the mom who called me every week my first semester at college and sent care packages every chance she got. But, that was before our world was turned on its side. Before my dad's diagnosis. Before everything in our lives seemed to change for the worse.
"Hi, Mom. How was your day?"
"Same," she replied, shrugging her shoulders. My mom worked for a local library. It seemed to be the perfect job for her since losing him. Every day she worked in the quiet. It was peaceful and placid. It helped calm the destructive voices that used to loom in her brain.
"I got my 90 day review at work today," I offered, knowing she wouldn't take the initiative to ask anything about my day. She stirred the onions and garlic in the saucepan. I saw a slight nod and realized that was all the recognition I would get. Shaking my head, I took a deep breath and walked towards her, rubbing my hand on her back lightly. She turned to me with another small smile.
Her doctor once told me that despite her lack of emotion on the outside, I needed to give her time. That she'd eventually adjust to her medication and be the Allison Foster that I grew up with. So, I wouldn't give up on her. I still showed her kindness and affection in the hopes that one of these days, she'd place her hand on mine and give me the warm smile I had missed for so, so long.
I waited another minute, even though I knew she wasn't going to congratulate me. With a sigh, I shook it off and took two plates from the cabinet, carrying them with me to the table.
"What's for dinner?" I asked, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.
"Taco salads," my mom replied as she added flank steak to the sizzling pan.
"Sounds great," I replied, placing assorted fresh vegetables on the granite countertop. This place was relatively new. The doctors suggested we move out of our old house. Too many memories. For my mom, it was too much, too much of him. Too much loss. But, for me, this place was sterile, foreign and not my home. It only made me miss him more.
The only sounds to be heard were the clinking of forks against the ceramic plates as my mom and I picked at our salads.
"Tell me about your review," Mom
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