There’s a knock on the front door as I sit at the dining room table buried in an avalanche of paperwork. Not wanting to lose my focus, I call out hoping whoever is on the other side can hear me, “Come in.”

A loud creak sounds and I hear feet shuffling. It’s Mr. Stone.

Looking up, I manage to see him just as he rounds the corner and walks toward me. “Don’t you have something better to do than to check up on me everyday?” I ask him.

“I’m not checking up on you Courtney, you’re keeping me company.”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that?” I say sarcastically.

“You didn’t, but I’m older than you and younger people generally do what I say.”

Mr. Stone, who now insists I call him Eddie, has been here every day since the incident with Mom. When I eventually got released from the hospital, he was waiting on my doorstep with unshed tears and a big bear hug.

In our flurry to get to the hospital, I had forgotten to keep him updated, and I felt horrible when I realized he blamed himself for it all. He explained the night to me, telling me how Mom barely drank but insisted she needed to go to bed. She was pleasant and upbeat and he thought nothing of it. When he retold the story all I remembered was the day before Renee took her own life. The false high that seems to make people around you feel hopeful, which makes the shock of their actions hurt that much worse. So, for the last few days, we have banded together in solidarity. Two broken hearts just trying to put one foot in front of the other, hoping that maybe one day, we won’t always feel like this.

“Has she finally agreed to go to the rehab facility?” he asks, sitting beside me.

“She can barely make two words out to me. I don’t know if she’s embarrassed or annoyed; she’s giving me nothing.” Mom refuses to talk to me. I know she’s spoken to Dr. Wood, but whenever I walk in the room, it’s a cold and painful silence, and I’m too beat down to fight. I want her better, whatever that means and wherever she needs to be to get it done, is what I’ll do. We’ve been wrapping up our feelings and hiding them in hard to reach places, and it is crashing down on every aspect of my life. I was a fool to think that I could balance it all by myself, and this week has proved exactly that.

After that last message I sent Elliot, I decided it would be the last time he heard from me. It was simple and the most honest thing I’d ever told him. Hurting him was never my intention, but I was too consumed with trying to keep everything hidden, I ruined it all. The only good thing to come out of this is I’ve realized it’s finally time. Time to mourn my sister, time to help my mom, and time to take my life back. Without all that, I have nothing to give somebody else. I need to be one hundred percent loving and living this life, and Elliot or anyone else I’m with in the future deserves that.

“She’s probably taking time to process it all,” Eddie suggests.

“Maybe.” I stop writing and look up at him. “Why haven’t you gone to see her?”

“If she won’t talk to you, what makes you think she’ll give me the time of day?”

“You’re not forcing her into a rehab facility, that definitely works in your favor,” I joke, trying to keep it light.

He places his hand over mine. “You’re doing the right thing, eventually she’ll thank you.”

I sigh loudly. “She hasn’t really spoken to me since Renee died, this shouldn’t be any different, right?” The disappointment of being the remaining daughter is real. Intentional or not, the abandonment of our relationship and everything we had before has torn me in two, time and time again.

“How long will she be in there for?”

“Dr. Wood said a sixty-day program should work well for her. It won’t just be about the addiction, the therapy will be tailored to discuss everything that led up to this point,” I explain.

“You know, I hate that all this has happened, but I feel you’re all finally taking a step in the right direction.”

I smile at this man who has admirably become a permanent fixture in my life in such a short time. Life often takes whatever it wants, but sometimes, when you least expect it, it gives. You just have to be willing to take what’s on offer.

* * *

Dropping the overnight bag on the hospital bed, I wait for Mom to return from wherever they’ve taken her. Once she’s discharged, we’ll begin our drive to the recommended wellness center upstate. I’m anticipating there will be a lot of quiet time.

Murmured voices make their way through the door, and mom and Dr. Wood walk in.

“Hello Courtney,” Dr. Wood says. We’ve gotten to know each other better over the last few days, she’s let me pour my heart out without any judgment, and she’s given me hope, in such devastating circumstances. I owe it to her to see this out with Mom, I owe her for realizing only I can make the difference in my own life. And before I try and be the reason for somebody else’s happiness, I need to know how to be happy with myself and the life I’ve created.

I look between her and Mom, and she nods at me, letting me know it’s time. “You ready mom?”

“I don’t really have much of a choice do I?” she says, her words full of resentment.

“No, but thanks for gracing us with the sound of your voice,” I retort. Grabbing the bag, I look up at the two women staring at me. My smile is tight, as I talk through clenched teeth. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Adjusting the radio, I let the music fill what usually would be talking time. I’m enjoying the silence, and look at my mom in shock when she makes an attempt to turn it down.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t a mother talk to her daughter.” The snarky response burns my tongue and I stop myself from making things worse.

“Sure, what do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t want to go to this place with you mad at me. I owe you an apology and a thank you.”

“Mom, we don’t have to do this now. It’s safe to say we’ve been to hell and back the last couple of years, let’s leave it at that,” I insist. The last thing I want is to be a sobbing mess on the side of the road.

“I don’t want you thinking I don’t love you, Courtney.”

“I don’t think that, Mom.”

“It would be understandable if you did.”

“I’m just glad you’re getting help,” I say. Directing the conversation to something more positive. I’m not emotionally equipped to deal with this right now. Hanging on by a thread, I’ve chosen to use my anger as a crutch, and I was hoping it would see me through for a little bit longer.

“What will you do while I’m away?”

“I haven’t thought about it yet,” I tell her honestly. “Probably just wait for you to return.”

“What about that fella you went out with a few times,” she says.

“Elliot?” My heart cinches when I say his name.

“Yes. Him.”

“We’re not together anymore,” I say regretfully. “There’s just too much going on right now that needs my attention.”

“You mean me?”

“No. Actually, I mean me. I’m a mess, Mom, I just hid it a lot better than you did,” I reveal. “Maybe if we stop being so stubborn, we can finally learn how to live again.” Alternating between the road and Mom, I notice the tears streaming down her face. I haven’t seen my mom shed a tear since Renee’s funeral, the alcohol masked a lot of her emotions. “Don’t cry, Mom.” I reach for her hand and squeeze. “We got this.” Even though this is the most honest conversation we’ve had in years, I lie at the end. I lie to give comfort, I lie to offer hope, and I lie because they say if you repeat it enough, it becomes your reality, and maybe this time it will.

The rest of the ride gets easier, the tension clears and the radio keeps our thoughts company.

When we arrive, we walk inside the facility and are given the grand tour, meeting a lot of friendly faces on the way. This place is filled with warmth and positivity, there’s nowhere better suited for Mom right now. It’s true that sunshine does come after the rain, and for my mom, this is that moment. She might be nervous, anxious and occasionally seem uninterested, but I can see the slightest change in her already, and she wants this, just as much as she needs it.

“Are you ready for me to go?” I ask her, as we stand in the lobby.

“Not really, but it needs to be done.”

“You know I’m only a call away, right?” I remind her.

“I know, but I don’t want you worrying about me, you need to use this time for you.” I nod, my eyes welling up with tears. “I’ve stolen years of your life, this boy, Elliot included. You need to go find yourself again, okay?” Words become inadequate, as I hang my head down to hide the tears. She leans in for a hug and whispers in my ear, “I love you, baby girl.” As a term of endearment I haven’t heard in years leaves her mouth, my tears become unstoppable. I cry an ocean. I cry for the loss of my sister, I cry for the loss of my mom, I cry for the loss of Elliot, and unexpectedly I cry for the loss of me. The girl I once was lost and forgotten.