Chapter Twenty-Four
Sierra was glad to be with someone she could talk to, even if her mother’s replies weren’t what she expected.
“Momma, I’m being pulled ten different ways,” she said gently. Sierra was leaning forward next to her mother’s bed, bags under her eyes from lack of sleep.
Did he kill someone? Was he an entirely different kind of monster than she expected going into this?
“Momma,” Sierra repeated, shaking her mother’s hand slightly. “Are you still here with me?” She didn’t expect her mother to actually answer any of her questions. She didn’t expect her to even reply, but ignoring her entirely hurt. Her mother stared at the TV screen, zoned off into another corner of the galaxy.
She wasn’t who she used to be.
Sierra could still taste her mother’s cooking. She could still smell the way her Crock-Pot beef stew would fill every inch of the house with its delicious savoriness.
She’d be doing homework or playing, and her mother would be at her side either helping with any questions or playing along. Sierra acted too cool for her when she became a teenager and pushed her mother away right before she lost who she was as a person forever.
When the accident came, Sierra was immediately lost. She was an only child. No family besides her mother anymore.
The doctors told her at just sixteen that her mother wasn’t going to regain consciousness. She’d either stay in a vegetative state, or she’d pass during the night; her head injuries were too severe to offer her any other options.
When her mother opened her eyes, everything changed.
Now Sierra was at her mother’s side whenever she could be. She cooked for her – she’d had so many failed stew attempts until she could finally make it the way her mother did – she cleaned her, she kept her entertained, and she talked to her.
Sierra’s guilt made time for them to be together.
Breathing out heavily, she sat back in her seat and stared at this woman who used to be so vivid.
She was a faded image, a melting piece of film that’s become indiscernible . Sierra was looking directly at her living, breathing mother, and she felt absolutely alone.
“Momma, can you still remember what it is to love someone?” she asked gently. She could have turned off the television, could have forced her mother to pay attention to her. She didn’t want to.
The pamphlets from before sat with her mother’s things.
Sierra flattened them out by pulling them taut and rubbing them against the corner of her mother’s food tray.
“Raising the standards of excellence we expect from nursing homes!” one boasted. Stock models in nursing uniforms were smiling, looking friendly.
Not like people who had to work with parents that people abandoned.
The facility was small, meaning her mother had a better chance for one-on-one time with people.
Sierra looked up at her, watching her mother’s spacy stare.
Was this the right step?
Would this help both of them live their lives in a way that resembled what it used to be?
Sierra sighed, feeling tears well at her eyes.
“Momma, I wish you could help me make this decision. I’m terrified of choosing here,” Sierra said gently, wanting to collapse to the ground.
Everything was nonstop lately.
Everything was too much.
She wanted some clarity for herself as well, some time to just zone out and stare at the television. Not that she wanted to go through anything her mother did, but Sierra had spent all of her adult life being her mother’s mother. She hadn’t had any chance to try partying or even dating. She didn’t get an opportunity to even figure out who she was.
Her mother shuffled on her bed, turning away from the television.
Guilt sparked in Sierra’s stomach, almost wondering if she’d heard her thoughts, and then her mother drifted off into a comfortable looking sleep.
She’d been selfish keeping her at home.
She couldn’t keep an eye on her constantly. It wasn’t fair to her that she had to try to.
“Momma, I love you so, so much,” Sierra said gently, taking her mother’s hand in her own. “I would do anything if it meant you’d be able to come home with me as yourself. But like this…” Sierra motioned vaguely, and a sob broke out of her throat.
Her mother shifted quietly in her bed, and Sierra watched with complete attention.
“Momma, I wish you could tell me how to do right by you. I wish you could give me a sign,” she said quietly. “I wish I could talk this through in a way that didn’t just feel like I was talking at you,” she continued.
Her mother’s eyes fluttered, but she didn’t reply.
She knew her mother would never entirely be able to reply, no matter how hard she worked.
Leaning back, she picked back up the pamphlets and pulled out her phone.
She could still offer her mother a better quality of life. Anything better than she’d been able to do for her.