Undoing

‘’This will be the last time’’ I said again.

As always when I spoke, she said nothing. The woman before me simply blinked up at me. She was like a shell. She was a shell I could no longer bear to see.

‘’Do you understand what I’m saying to you?’’ I said, moving a little further from the woman. I stepped back towards the door, stepping away from her. I felt heat rising to my face.

Silence.

The air around me became suffocating. It suddenly felt harder to breathe. I struggled with my collar, pulling at the fabric to give myself enough air, but it wasn’t enough. She continued to look at me, a dead stare looking through me as though I wasn’t there at all. It was unbearable.

‘’Do you understand anything anymore?’’ I choked, watching for a response.

She simply continued to stare.

She had lost her smile. That was the first thing to go. Her smile had been contagious. Her teeth, once white and straight, would glisten in the light. A crease would form in each corner of her mouth, no sign of discontent as she spoke. Her lips would part slightly, and her words would pour into the world like a blessing. I would speak no words for I was always transfixed by her, always watching her smile.

Her eyes bled a chocolate brown. They would beam with pride at the thought of her life. She was proud of living, proud of it all. She was proud of the life she had created for herself. She was proud of the man she had met one day, singing to himself as he waited for the bus. She had known she would make him her husband, and she did. She was proud of how deeply, madly in love with her he had been. She was proud of the house they had bought together and the things they had filled it with, each room bursting with colour and energy. She was proud of the wild parties she would throw, inviting neighbours and friends from across the world to join. The people would come, pilling into the house. They were hungry for the excitement, eager to absorb the shared passion for living. There was always enough dancing and laughter to fill a lifetime. She was proud of the home that was never dull, never still. She was proud of the career she had had, one that enriched her life and allowed her mind to be constantly analysing, constantly active.

She was proud of me.

I would stare, dazzled by her. I was amazed by the woman who had accomplished so much. I was staggered by a woman so proud to simply be alive. How comforting it would be to be proud of your own existence, I had thought. So much had filled her life, a little life I could only have dreamed of.  

But the steady beat of time had peeled that away.

There was no smile anymore.

The woman I saw before me was someone entirely different.

I looked down at the woman. She had been propped upright in her bed, her head tilted to watch the world beyond her bedroom door. I stared at her thinning, grey hair and missing teeth. I looked at her sunken cheeks and skeletal fingers clinging to the bedsheets. I watched the slow blink of her dull eyes. I felt the weight of her emptiness crushing me. How could anyone be proud to have become this?

‘’Enough’’ I whispered. I could no longer stand it. I no longer wished to feel her blank stare upon me. I turned to face away. What use was I to a broken doll in this toy house, watching a world she no longer knew pass her by? What use was I to a mind no longer present? She would have hated it, I knew. She would have hated ending up like this. I hated it, too.  I knew I could no longer stand by and watch, powerless to stop the cruel, tormenting hands of life pluck away at the person before me.

I nodded to the nurse who had been stood at the doorway, waiting patiently. Thanking her, I walked away, knowing I would keep my word. I knew it was the last time I would see my mother.

****

Slipping through my front door, I shook the cold winter evening off my shoulders and placed my coat on the hanger. I walked through my home, going to the kitchen and turning on the kettle to fill myself with something warm. I stepped through the silent house, passing each room until finally, I stepped into the bathroom. I turned, watching my reflection staring back at me.

I looked into the mirror and found myself searching my face. As always, I looked for signs of my mother. But no grace had blessed my woeful body. No sparkling teeth to catch the light. No gleam of pride to envelope my presence and no words to stop the beating hands of time. No smile, contagious at first glance, had ever shone back at me. Instead, empty eyes stared back; eyes desperate to deceive the world.

I stared at my reflection for some time.

Suddenly, and without warning, a wave overcame me. I stepped back, feeling the air begin to drown me. I felt my mother before me. I saw the shell I had left moments before. And slowly, I saw her changing; contorting into the woman I had once known. She was a woman filled with light once more. Her smile was returning, creeping over her face and beaming at me. I felt myself begin to smile back.

But the face began to change. She was reaching for me, begging me. She was longing for her child to return to her. I watched the mother I had once known, pleading not to be left behind. How could I leave her, I thought, feeling the emptiness swell into hope. How could I abandon her, the once vibrant woman who had raised me? Perhaps I should turn back, go to her as I always did. Perhaps one day, the woman I knew would return. 

But I knew my mother no longer existed. I knew she no longer saw me. She no longer saw anything.

I turned away from the mirror.