Hollow Feelings

Trigger Warning: self-harm and mental health

Old wood smelled of home, with fresh paint and creaky floors. Childhood memories in the cracks of white kitchen tiles still shades of pink and purple from the time little six year old Amy discovered permanent markers. Her sweet, single-mother had lovingly prepared a bath, scrubbing the ink stains from Amy’s arms asking, “You like the purples don’t you?” That spring Amy’s mom had finished painting the spare upstairs bedroom a soft lilac. “This will be your room till you find a home of your own.” And this child-like upstairs bedroom was the same room adult Amy visited in now, for the last time. Her mother had grown old and arrangements had been made for her to move in with Amy’s husband and two daughters, ages eight and twelve, in their three-bedroom home in the countryside. They had only two weeks to finish packing, prepare the house for sale, and say goodbye to its well-loved walls.

The first night had been congenial. Amy and her mom had quickly settled into the old black couch, hot bedtime tea steaming in their palms, chittering at the pleasantries of life, story-telling shared memories.

“Remember that time I had planted seeds in the garden?” Her mother asked. 

“And then when they grew up, I picked them thinking they were weeds and that I was helping you?”

“Yes!” She roared with laughter.

“You know, I’m still embarrassed about that.” Amy blushed. “But then we planted them together and that fall we harvested the biggest pumpkin. And you taught me how to make pumpkin pie.”

“Yes, I remember. You hated the idea, saying you wouldn’t eat a pie with vegetables in it. And yet, once you’d tried it, you didn’t want to stop. I had to hide it from you.”

Amy had a far-off look in her eye as she recalled the deep autumn-orange pumpkin pie, with warm steam wafting the fragrance of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cloves. When she tentatively bit into it, a velvet creaminess had coating her tongue enchanting her senses. “That really was the best pie.”

“How does your family feel about me living with them?” Amy’s mom asked.

“They’re excited. Especially Bella. She helped me prepare your room and got everyone to make welcome cards.”

“That’s so sweet. Tell me more.”

And the night wore on, filled with diverting ambiance. But it was morning now, the sun shone brightly through the windows, outdated floral curtains tied neatly back. Amy sat at the breakfast table having prepared cinnamon pear oatmeal and mixed berry smoothies to enjoy together. Her mom stiffly sat into the chair across from her and offered a warm greeting “Cheerful morning isn’t it?”

“It sure is. How’d you sleep?”

“Aside from the old aches and pains, I slept well. It was comforting to know I wasn’t alone in the house.” She began dishing herself some oatmeal.

“I had some trouble adjusting to my old bed.” Amy chuckled. “But that’s alright.” She waited till her mom was done and began serving herself.

Amy’s mom murmured a “hmm.” And they ate in near silence for a few moments only listening to the soft hum of the refrigerator, the clinking of their spoons against the bowl, and the chirping of birds outside.

“You said you have pains. Has everything been alright?” Amy asked breaking the serenity.

“I have an old scar that bothers me from time to time, it doesn’t look like anything but I can feel it.”

Amy thought briskly of her mother’s health history, in her twenties she’d had surgery in the mouth to remove late wisdom teeth, in her thirties she’s had a C-section to deliver Amy, her only child, and in her sixties, she’d had some cancerous tumors removed. And now she was in her late seventies. Confused Amy asked, “Is this an old scar or a recent scar?”

“Well the word scar is a bit misleading, I’m not sure what happened, but there’s a pain inside, my right side. I feel as though there is a part of me that’s missing.” She casually sipped her berry smoothie. “This is really good.”

Amy thought for a moment. “May I see?”

“Oh, it’s not a big deal, hardly bothers me, but if you really want to see I’ll show you after we finish our meal.”

When Amy saw her mother's right side, there were no visible injuries, not even bruising. Amy tenderly touched the area asking, “Does that hurt?”

“No.”

“How about that?”

“It doesn’t feel like anything.”

 Amy furrowed her brows. “Can you feel my touch though?”

“Yes, I’m not numb or anything, it's on the inside that I don’t feel. I’m telling you something is missing. I just feel hollow.” Amy widened her eyes and stared up at her mom. “Oh! Don’t look at me like that. Really, you shouldn’t be concerned. I’m not dead yet, am I?”

Amy stood and her mother pulled down her shirt. “Really mother, you shouldn't say things like that. You’re not hollow and you’re not dying. We have too many good memories still ahead of us. I want you at my daughter’s graduations.” Her mother tittered and looked away without responding. They continued on with packing, but Amy couldn’t stop worrying about what her mother had said.

A few days later Amy took a moment of privacy to step out in the overgrown backyard and dialed her husband to share her dismay at her mother’s words.

“I agree, that is concerning.” He had said.

“She doesn’t seem to be ill or in pain from it.”

“Have you made plans for a doctor’s appointment?”

“I haven’t.”’

“Have you talked to her about it since?”

“No.”

“Well, I think you should. And I think it would be wise to do so before she comes to live with us. We wouldn’t want the kids seeing her suffering if she does have something serious.” 

“Yeah, that makes sense. I’ll try to find a good time.”

A week had passed, and with only four more days till their move-out date, a good time hadn’t come. They had instead gotten busy packing cardboard boxes, taping and labeling them carefully. Amy’s mom did the sitdown jobs, like the wrapping of fragile and the labeling of boxes, she’d always had the better penmanship after all, meanwhile, Amy panted from the lifting and loading of the boxes into the moving trailer.

They were taking a lunch break with simple sandwiches and tall waters, when Amy found the courage to say, “I think it would be good to check out that side ache of yours.”

“Nonsense. I don’t need that. You worry too much.” Her mom guarded.

Any other time Amy might agree, but with the words of her husband still ringing in her ears, she persisted. “Your complaint was odd. If you think your ‘missing something’ or ‘hollow’ inside then I think you need to get that checked out.”

“It’s just a part of getting old, your body just feels different; things change.”

Amy sighed. “What do you think has changed?”

“I don’t want to tell you, you’ll think it’s weird.” They frowned at each other for a few moments. 

“I didn’t want to have to tell you this,” Amy began, “but my husband and I agreed that you need to talk to someone professional about this before we bring you home. I won’t allow you to ignore this issue.”

“Really? You’re gonna insist like that? Do I not have my own autonomy anymore? I‘m your mother for Pete’s sake.” She waved her hands in the air.

Amy said nothing but gulped down some water to soothe the tightness in her throat and cool the heat rising in her face

“Fine,” her mother said, “If you insist. I’ll tell you.” She took a moment to compose herself. “After a time, I felt different. I did some research and found this study where they were talking about strange things your body does and-” She began what Amy knew would be a long-winded story.

“Please to the point, what did you find out?” Amy interrupted.

She sighs frustrated. “I think my body absorbed an organ. I think it absorbed some of, if not all of my liver.”

“What? That’s not possible, mom. That’s not a thing.”

“I can feel it though, I can feel my organs being absorbed right now.” She waved her arms more frantically, “That's why I’m having pains.”

“No, mom, no, it’s not a thing. It's just in your head.” Amy reasoned.

“The reality is old bodies die whether we want them to or not. Mine is just the same. Soon I won’t have any functional organs.” She asserted a cold stare. The type Amy had received as a child when she had disobeyed orders or yelled at her mom. It still sent shivers down her spine. Her mom’s gaze softened as she continued, “But what I’d rather be thinking about right now is the time I get to spend with you and my beautiful grandchildren. So please let's just focus on the positive and get this packing done.” She stood.

Amy stood too, “Look, mom. I love you, and I want to have good years with you together with my family. But what you are saying to me, frankly, I think you’re delusional and you need help. I don’t want to bring you to live with my family if you're having delusions.”

“You would keep me from my family because you think I'm having delusions? That’s cruel, Amy. And I'm not having delusions. I know what’s going on in my own body.”

“I don’t want to be cruel, but I must insist that you see a doctor.”

“No please no, they won’t understand, and they won't have my best interests in mind. Please promise me no doctors on this?” She pleaded.

“I can’t promise you that. I’m gonna make an appointment. We will get this sorted.” Amy quickly left into the garden to make the appointment leaving her mom inside. Once she had finished, she headed back inside and cleaned the dishes, drinking the rest of her water glass. Her mother was not in sight. I probably stressed her out too much. Feeling sorry for her troubled mom, she grabbed a little bar of chocolate she’d stowed away and headed down the hall to deliver it.

“Mom?” She knocked on the door. “I brought you something yummy!” No response. “Mom?” Amy squeaked. Dread pooled at her feet as she open the door stepping into the empty bedroom. “Mom!’ She yelled. A crash sounded from the bathroom. Amy rushed over, thankfully the door was unlocked. Inside stood Amy’s mom, her shirt on the floor exposing her abdomen where a faint line of red trickled from a shallow mark, a kitchen knife lay on the floor still reverberating. 

“I couldn’t do it. I got scared.” Amy’s mom sobbed.

“What happened, why did you do this?” She embraced her mother, keeping one eye on the knife, it lay in the corner, seeming to have missed her mother’s feet on the drop down.

“I didn’t want to go to the doctor. I thought that if I could prove to you that I’m not delusional that you might allow me to go with you still. I’ve looked forward to that for so long, and now that you're taking it away from me. I just-” Her body shook as it surrendered to despondency.

“Hey, It’s okay, it's okay.” She soothed her mother's back, leading her to sit on the bed. Her mom continued to sob and make inarticulate phrases. Amy whispered, “Now I just want to see…” She knelt down to get a better look at the cut. Though shallow, it was still bleeding. “Just stay right here”, she said and she went back into the bathroom, grabbing the knife and setting it on the counter, then taking the abandoned shirt to her mother and holding it against the cut. “Can you hold this here mom?” Her mom didn’t seem aware so Amy discreetly took her hand and held it against the cloth. She sat beside her mom, cuddling her close. She almost lost her composure then. If the cut had been deeper her mom might’ve already been… no, she couldn’t allow herself to go there. I still have to get her help. I can’t drive her, my truck is hooked up to the trailer and it’s blocking the garage. So she called for an ambulance and insisted on staying with her mom.

A few hours later, a doctor came into the waiting room and called for Amy. The doctor said, “We bandaged the cut. Thankfully it was pretty shallow. We do not think she lost too much blood. She did seem to be in a state of distress so we gave her a mild sedative to calm her down. I strongly suggest that she gets a psychiatric evaluation because of the circumstances you found her in.”

The psychiatric evaluation took a long time to by complete, during which Amy had finished moving her mom’s stuff and preparing her old house, while her mom remained at a treatment facility for her safety. Once the evaluation was completed and the physiatrist sat Amy down to discuss the results he said, “I apologize for the delay. Your mother has an unusual condition. I believe she has a very rare mental condition called Cotard's syndrome. It can come in many forms but those who have it can have delusions that they’re missing body parts, dying, or already dead.”

“I see. How did she get it?”

“There isn’t a clear and traceable way that people develop this syndrome. Sometimes it’s coupled with other mental issues like dementia, however, it's also possible to get it without any obvious correlating conditions.”

“Is there a treatment?”

“There are treatments that we can try that have helped people with the condition in the past. However, it will likely be a long process without any guarantees. And given the concern that she may self-harm again, it would be necessary to house her under the supervision of trained staff.”

Amy’s heart sank with the realization that she may never be able to bring her mom home, that age had taken her mind too soon, sooner than Amy had anticipated. Amy did what she thought was best and signed her mom away to live in a safe facility where she would be looked after and hopefully recover and then Amy could finally bring her home.

After Amy’s mom was settled into her new living situation, Amy brought her family over to visit. The facility wasn’t cozy, there weren’t any plush rugs, hot tea, or family pictures, but there also wasn’t a kitchen full of sharp objects or children running around. Amy wished it could've been different, but how? So she did what little she could to include her beloved mother. When she held the hands of her two daughters, squatting down and whispering close to them, “go say hello to your grandma,” eight-year old Lizzy said, “hello” softly, tucked close to her mother’s side, and twelve-year old Bella bounced right up and said, “here! I got something for you!” She reached deep into her shorts pocket and pulled out a little bandaid. “Mommy said you’re not feeling good, so I got this to make you feel better!” She handed it over and Amy’s mom took it with fondness.

“That’s very kind of you my dear,” She said holding the bandaid and smiling at Bella. Then she looked to Amy and the tenderness faded slightly, “But I feel fine.”