Already gone

Already Gone

I finish lathering the simple cake with my famous cream cheese frosting. I made sure to make it exactly the way my mother loves because she deserves it. She deserves every once of energy I can give her.

I wrap the cake in some tinfoil and take one final look at myself in the mirror before leaving. My brown hair just barely brushes my shoulders, and I wish it would grow faster. I want to get it as long it used to be when I was a teenager. I’ve kept my face plain, avoiding my usual red lipstick and eyeshadow. I know it won’t be enough for her to recognize me, but I try anyway. I grumble at my terrible attempt and turn away from the mirror, grabbing my coat before heading out the door.

The drive is quiet and long. A pit forms in my stomach that churns with worry. When I pull in, I take a moment to breathe, trying to settle my racing heart. It takes nearly half an hour to muster the courage to drag myself out of the car and walk in.

The nursing home is incredibly warm compared to the outside, so I quickly slip off my coat. I walk down hallways looking for Mom’s room. I’ve been here many times but for some reason, the maze of the place always trips me up. Bland carpets, bland walls and doorways that all look the same.

I follow the numbers until I reach room 137. The door sign says Meredith Scott, confirming that I found the right room. Taking one more deep breath, I push open her door and walk in. The small room is filled with sunlight from the window and the TV is on. Mom’s bed sits empty to my left and to my right I find her sitting in her wheelchair, chewing on what looks like a chicken bone. Her long gray hair is braided, and she’s still in her nightgown. My shoes squeak on the laminate flooring and Mom whips her head around to look at me.

“I didn’t get a cookie with my lunch,” she says to me, before turning back towards the TV.

“Sorry Mom, I told them I was bringing you a cake.” My voice comes out a little shaky.

“Oh, I’m not a mom silly. I never got lucky enough.”

Heart and hope sinking, I turn toward the bed, setting the cake down and moving closer. My hands begin to shake but I try again, “I heard Rebecca was visiting you today?” I say my name to remind her that I exist, even if she doesn’t match my face to her daughter.

“Rebecca?” she stares at the wall for a while before her face scrunches up real tight, “Well I don’t…” she pauses and scoffs, “who cares if she visits.”

Tears push at my eyes, anxiety spiking. She doesn’t remember me at all right now. Mom mutters to herself before going back to chewing on the remains of her lunch. I take a moment to breathe, swallowing down the lump in my throat.

“Well, I have a cake here for your birthday…” I start.

“It’s my birthday?” Mom spins to look at me.

I smile at her, “Yes, it’s your birthday, happy birthday young lady.”

She throws her chicken bone back on her tray and fiddles with the towel on her lap, “Oh! I should be eating out in the dining room. Please take me there, I don’t know why you didn’t remind me of my birthday sooner.”

Annoyance creeps up when I realize she thinks I’m her nurse. I know better than to get upset so I gently say, “I’m sorry, I’ll bring you right now.” I move the cake to her lap, “Watch over this for me, ok?” She nods before I spin her around and push her out the door. Following the signs on the walls, the empty hallways eventually open to a large dining area. The walls are covered in wide windows, the hard wood floor scuffed up from the multitude of shoes and chairs.

The room is still filled with people finishing their lunches, but I find a small table in the corner to push Mom up to. I sit down in the seat beside her, moving the cake to the table.

“Would you like to try the cake now?” I ask.

Mom’s not looking at me though, “Maggie!” she yells across the room.

“Mom, you can’t…”

“Stop calling me Mom.”

A knife stabs through my heart at her sharp tone. I forgot to call her by name, again. It only hurts both of us when I make this mistake. While all I want to do is call her mom, I also desperately wish she could call me by name.

It takes a moment to bring myself back to reality after that mistake. When I do, an older lady is sitting next to my mom in her own wheelchair. Her gray hair done up nicely, purple lipstick the only color on her face. Must be the Maggie Mom called for.

“I don’t like this damn chicken they serve,” Maggie says.

Mom laughs, “I love it! Can’t get enough.”

The two women continue talking and I just watch, astounded at how Mom sounds like herself for once. She’s laughing and talking to Maggie like they’ve been friends for years, like she knows Maggie better than her own daughter. My insides squirm and I just want to yell, to scream at Maggie for taking my mom from me. Before I get up to take a bathroom break to calm down, Maggie turns to me.

“Is that your cake?” she asks.

“No, I brought it for Meredith” I say.

“Oh, why?” Maggie asks.

“Oh yes! Maggie, it’s my birthday!” Mom says.

“Oh, happy birthday Meredith!” Maggie says.

At the excitement on their faces, I can’t help but smile. “How about we all share some cake together?” I ask.

Maggie nods while Mom says, “Yes, finally. Since I don’t get my cookie, this cake will have to do.”

I pull on the tinfoil before pulling a number 74 candle out of my pocket. “You ready to blow out your candle?” I ask.

Her smile lights up the room, “Absolutely, though I think you have the wrong candle, I’m not that old.”

I sigh, “Sorry, I must have made a mistake.”

“That’s ok dear, everyone makes mistakes.”

I give Mom a smile before pushing the candle into the cake and lighting it for her. I try to sing a quiet happy birthday to her, but she blows out the candle before I can finish.

“Alright, it’s my birthday, so I get to lick the candle.”

I smile and hand it to her. She hums as she tastes the frosting, “delicious.”

I cut the cake, handing both Maggie and Mom a piece. I’ve never really liked carrot cake, so I refrain from giving myself some.

When Mom sees her piece, her face scrunches up, “Oh what idiot brought me carrot cake, gross.”

“Just try it Meredith, you might like it,” I say. This happens every year. It’s been a long while since she’s remembered what her favorite cake was, but she always enjoys it once she tries it.

Mom rolls her eyes before taking a small bite. Then, her face lifts into the biggest smile I’ve seen in a long time. “This is amazing,” she pauses, staring at the wall for a moment before, “My daughter used to make something for me that tasted just like this. She was always so good at baking.”

My heart soars at her mentioning me, hope filling my chest. This is it, she can remember me. So, I push for more, “Yeah, Mom, I made it just for you.”

When she looks back at me her face twists into a snarl again, “I said my daughter, Rebecca, was good at baking. I don’t know where she is, but she must’ve made this cake and given it to you. Thank you, but I can make it back to my room on my own, you can go.”

Again, my hope is crushed under a weight too heavy to truly understand. She remembers me which should be enough, should fill me with joy. But she still doesn’t know me and that still hurts. “I’m sorry Meredith, my mistake.”

“Yes, I know. Please leave now. Thank you for taking me to the dining room but I would like to enjoy this cake alone with Maggie since you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

Mom glares, and anger rushes through me to cover the hurt. I push myself away from the table storming out of the room. I’ve been burned by the words that my mother didn’t intend to hurt me with, so I let myself storm out of the nursing home and back into my car.

It’s not until I get home and snuggle up on the couch that the anger fades away, leaving me raw and hurting again. I’ll never get my mother back. There is nothing I can do, no way to fix it. I still hope that somehow the diagnosis was a mistake, that the next time I visit she’ll welcome me, call me by name and give me a hug. But it won’t happen, Mom doesn’t need me, all I do is confuse and frustrate her. Mom will probably be better off never seeing me again.

So, I let out my tears, let it all out. I think I’ll miss Mom forever, I will need her until my final breath. But, for her sake, I push that need down. So deep that it will never come back, never haunt either of us again.

I forget about her as much as I can. I go about my business and focus on what I can control. In the quiet moments, I still yearn for a hug from my mother, a sweet word that reminds me she loves me. But I let a month pass without seeing her and when I get a call from the nursing home, it doesn’t hit me as hard as I expect. They tell me Mom’s gone; she passed in her sleep. Although it’s finally time to plan the funeral, she’s gone for a long while. It’s almost easier this way, now I can move on. We can both move on.