When I kissed my mother goodbye that morning, I thought the hardest part of her recovery was behind us. I had no idea I’d come home to find her sitting on our front steps with her walker tipped onto its side beside her.
Advertisement
When the hospital discharged my mother that Monday morning, after a major surgery, I helped her into my car one careful step at a time.
“Easy,” I whispered as she winced.
“I’m all right,” she insisted.
She wasn’t.
Her doctor had been crystal clear.
No lifting.
No bending.
No climbing stairs.
No stress.
Recovery would take at least six weeks.
My husband, Jake, hadn’t hesitated for a second.
“She stays with us,” he’d said the night before. “As long as she needs.”
I’d kissed him for that.
Because I’d been worrying how to ask.
My mother, Maxine, had spent my entire childhood sacrificing everything for me after my father died.
Now it was my turn.
When we pulled into our driveway, she looked at the house and smiled.
“I still hate feeling like a burden.”
“You aren’t.”
“I know your house is already crowded.”
I forced a smile.
“We’ll manage.”
The truth was, our house had been crowded for years.
Jake’s parents, Janice and Bruce, had moved in three years earlier after our twins were born.
“It’ll just be for a few months,” Janice had promised.
She was going to help with the babies while I recovered from childbirth.
Bruce claimed he’d handle the yard work and home maintenance.
At first, they really had helped.
Then the months turned into years.
The twins were now three.
Fully potty trained.
Running around the house with endless energy, yet somehow, Janice and Bruce were still living under our roof.
Every time Jake mentioned them finding their own place, there was another excuse.
The housing market.
Bruce’s bad knee.
Janice’s allergies.
The apartment they’d almost rented.
The house that had slipped away.
There was always something.
Eventually, we stopped asking.
Or rather, Jake stopped asking.
I stopped believing they’d ever leave.
As I helped Mom inside, Janice appeared in the foyer.
Her smile looked painted on.
“Oh.”
She looked Maxine up and down.
“So she’s here.”
Jake carried Mom’s overnight bag to the guest room.
“Guest room’s all ready.”
Janice folded her arms.
“I didn’t realize she’d actually be staying.”
Jake looked confused.
“We talked about this.”
“I thought you meant one or two nights.”
“The surgeon said six weeks.”
Janice’s lips tightened.
“That’s quite a long visit.”
Mom immediately looked uncomfortable.
“I can stay somewhere else.”
“No,” Jake said. “You’re staying here.”
He helped her to her room while I unpacked her medications.
Bruce wandered through the kitchen carrying a mug of coffee.
“Morning.”
He barely acknowledged my mother.
“Morning,” she replied politely.
He grunted and walked away.
That was Bruce.
Never openly rude, just permanently annoyed by everyone else’s existence.
After lunch, I helped Mom settle into the guest room.
Fresh sheets.
Extra pillows.
Her medications neatly arranged beside the bed.
“I’ll probably sleep all afternoon,” she said. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.”
She smiled.
“You’ve always taken care of me.”
“I learned from the best.”
She squeezed my hand.
“I raised a good daughter.”
Those words stayed with me.
The next morning I had no choice but to return to work. I’d already used most of my leave helping Mom through surgery.
Jake left early for meetings across town.
Before I headed out, I found Janice making breakfast.
“I’m leaving Mom’s medications on the counter,” I said. “They’re labeled by time.”
Janice didn’t look up from the frying pan.
“I’m not a nurse.”
“I’m not asking you to be. I’m just letting you know in case she needs help.”
“I’m sure she’ll manage.”
Her tone was flat.
Cold.
