The Sins of My Mother

I hold my breath as the dressings peel away and the world emerges in a shimmering rainbow. Muted at first, as the nurse gradually draws back the blinds, allowing the light to creep and then careen through the lightly tinted windows. An eruption of colors, almost too much to bear.

A deep sigh, and a cry as my mother’s face swims into view.

“Everything … I can see everything! Just like before!“

Well, not quite like before. It takes a moment to realize that the face gazing down is older now, delicate lines of life etched around her blue eyes, now radiant with joy.   

Another face, a soothing voice, and a kind smile.

“Something of a success, I believe. Your mother has your medication – be sure to take it regularly to handle the rejection, and I’ll see you again soon. Welcome to your new life!”

***

I remember when the darkness finally closed in, all that time ago. It had been creeping around the edges for so long – slicing into the vivid colors of my early childhood. I would shake my head, trying to will the encroaching curtains away.

“Mommy, there’s something in my eye! Even bigger than before!”

“Don’t worry, darling, it’s not forever. You’ll grow out of it, I promise; just wait a little longer.”

But as I awoke on my 10^th birthday, the light had unmistakably left. I cowered under the covers, refusing to get out of bed – not for the presents, or the cake, or my father’s pleas to blow out the candles I will never see. There had still been a glimmer last night: glimpses of shapes, the reassurance of my mother’s presence. But her promises were hollow and forever had come.

***

And so my mother’s mission begins.  I will see again, no matter what it takes, no matter what the cost. The price of her obsession is high. It drives my father away, repelling him with the sheer force of her determination. So many angry conversations, so many slammed doors.

“We need to get her into a school for the blind; she needs friends, fun, education. There’s no reason she can’t have a normal life once she learns how to cope. You can still talk to doctors and research our options, but we need to accept this. We can’t live this way.”

“She is NOT blind – never use that word! I will take care of her until they find a cure; she doesn’t need anyone else. There are scientists working on it, and they’ll come up with something soon; all my research proves it. What’s the point of teaching her to “cope” when it’s just a matter of time? If you can’t handle it, go!

And so he does, and all is quiet. Just me and my mother’s quest. I had stopped going to school when the fading light made my teachers concerned. Maybe some special attention was needed? Maybe a disability accommodation? My mother’s anger cowed them. Home school from now on; you’ll learn much more anyway. She had made me take music lessons since kindergarten and my piano, once a mere source of frustration, now becomes my refuge in the darkness. Magically, I come to know the keys under my fingers, even though the blacks and whites are invisible. As time passes, music becomes my salve. It flows from my soul, filling the void with beauty.

***

And all the while, my mother is with me. I learn what she teaches me, and I wait. I walk in the garden, relishing the now sharpened scent of blossom and the clear calls of songbirds. I devour audio books, which she picks for me with love. As one book ends, a teaser for another promises “a heartwarming story of how a young girl comes to terms with her loss of sight, navigating through college, career, and love.”

My heart quickens and I ask my mother to get it for me.

“Of course not – you don’t need to hear stories about girls who give up.  When you’re cured, there’ll be no need to settle for a second-best life!”

She knows what’s best for me, and as long as she is with me, what more do I need? I wait, quietly enduring visits with doctor after doctor. I rarely hope any more.

***

Suddenly, the waiting is over. I hear the excitement in my mother’s voice.

“It’s a breakthrough, darling – it’s happening!”

 “Mom, we’ve been through this so many times. You know I can live with it. It’s the hope that’s wearing me out.”

“This is different, angel; I know it. They’ve been working on this for years. Not just here but all over the world, and now they’ve finally done it. I didn’t want to tell you everything until it’s definite. But they’ve reviewed your case, and you’re perfect!”

A spark begins to tingle. Could it be true?

So it begins again – trips to yet another new clinic. The familiar scents of disinfectant and lemon. The measurement and probing.

“No, no shadows or flashes – just darkness. Nothing.”

“Perfect; you’re exactly the kind of patient we’re looking for.” His voice is low and soothing.

***

So it’s done, and of course my mother was right! I explore our home in rapture, trying to match my dim, childhood memories to the firm shapes and bright colors of today. My music gains a new dimension, as I gaze over my piano at the riot of spring flowers through our window. Every note sings color and light, flowing from my eager fingers. How could I have forgotten that? 

And I dream. Maybe I can be that girl, the one whose story I never heard? Twenty years have passed, but it’s not too late, is it? People my age go to college, they learn a career, and they fall in love. I smile to myself as I look in the mirror, drinking in the reflection of the person I have grown to be. Remembering my 10-year-old self, I trace the changes – the fully-formed nose, the cheekbones, the eyes …

And then I pause, frown, and look again. Is my memory playing tricks? No doubt that it’s me in the mirror. My ash-blond hair has darkened, but I recognize my pale, pink-tinged complexion. And yet …

This woman gazes back at me through deep, brown, unfamiliar eyes.

***

I should ask my mother, who can always soothe my questions. Then again, I am no longer a child; I am living my new life now. The answer to everything, I have learned, is on the Internet. I have never used a computer; my mother wished to shield me from any frustration. But my audio books have taught me enough to begin.  

I wait for my mother to go out. She has promised to teach me to drive one day (no need to rush into anything), but for now she takes care of errands as always. Plenty of time to go into her office, where she keeps her computer. It’s how she researched my cure, and found my miracle doctor.

Email will be a good way to start, I think proudly. It might tell me what she knows about the cure, perhaps settling the question of those eyes. She’ll be thrilled if I learn for myself. The computer is on, and her email is open. Sometimes I think she forgets I can see – but it’s not as if she has anything to hide.

Quickly I find my doctor’s name, and a torrent of messages. Shall I read the first or the latest? One from just yesterday pops up.

“Thanks; we’ll sort it out. Really, there’s no need to worry about it. He can’t find you, and to be honest, no one would believe him anyway. Just relax and enjoy your miracle!”

A flutter of anxiety in my stomach. I start scrolling. Here’s one from a year ago, just months before my surgery. There’s a picture attached.

“How about this one? She is younger of course, but that’s a good thing. Healthy, perfect vision. They’ve agreed on the price.”

I click, and a photo appears. A young girl – perhaps a teenager. Dark skin, dark hair, a calm and trusting expression. And beautiful brown eyes.

***

 I click in a frantic flurry. They’ve been researching this technique for years. Boon for soldiers, devastated by roadside bombs. The science is there. Works on mice and monkeys. Complete restoration of vision. Not yet available to the general public. Dead donors always an issue. But for a price ….

My fingers freeze over the keys. A more recent message, a few two days ago.

“This isn’t pretty, but I thought you should know. The father is contacting me, and he sent this. Says he might go to the authorities, or the media or something. Heart-rending images and all that.”

Another photo. There can be no doubt. Same girl, same dark skin, same dark hair. Neat, sutured scars where her eyes once were.

“But look, they knew what they were getting into. They got a good chunk of cash and a chance for the younger kids to go to school. She does some street-begging now, and I’ve heard she actually does quite well. And honestly, who would believe it? Still, we probably need to come up with a few more dollars to make sure.”

I am so cold. 

“Let me know how much you need. I’ve used those inheritance funds, but I think I can refinance the house. It’s disappointing that they’re so greedy, when we really helped them out. But you can count on me. Most important: she can never know!”

***

My mother returns, cheerful as ever.

“You were gone a long time. Get everything done?”

“Just had to go to the bank; usual excruciating wait. But everything’s taken care of, and I’ve got seafood pasta for tonight. Nice bottle of pinot and we’re all set for the evening. Maybe a movie later?”

I nod, my mind numb. Movies are a new shared pleasure.

“Honey, I still can’t get used to having you all better. All those years were worth it; I love you so much!

***

And she does – I have never doubted it. But I have no choice. My future, snatched from the darkness, is a lie, purchased for a price that cannot be borne. It will take a while, but it must be done. There are emails to send, legacies to be formalized, documents to be secured. It will never be enough.

Three weeks later, we’re settled in front of the TV for another vicarious, romantic adventure.

“Let me fill up your glass, Mom; bottle’s in the fridge.”

She drinks deeply, with a sigh of satisfaction. 

“Aaah, this is the life!  But you know, I’m not sure I’m going to make it all the way through. I’m feeling so sleepy...”

I watch her head droop, and it’s time. I have her favorite, fluffy pillow ready; I am surprised how easy it is to drain the life from her.

There’s still a plentiful supply of pills. Ever since the surgery, she had made sure to give me a good night’s sleep along with my prescribed medication. I have saved enough.

I should not weep; I do not deserve to weep. And yet my tears are flowing. So much pain, so much waste, so many lies. I weep for my lost future, and for hers. I weep for my mother. I walk to my piano and sit down to play. The sweet, plaintive whisper of “Fur Elise” springs from my fingers, surging into the passionate flow of the music. I play as if it is the last thing I will ever do. And as it fades into silence, I step away, savoring a last glass of wine. I lie down by my mother, our heads together on her favorite pillow. I wait for the darkness to close in.