It had been two years. I’m uncertain that they noticed I was gone. Barely occupying the space in all those years, a whisper. I’m sure my mom did but it was always fleeting. My father and I never spoke even under the same roof, so why would he? I’m sure he was grateful for the money saved at my absence. It was a phone call from him that pulled me back. That moment felt so long. So cold. I liked the life I was creating. I became hopeful for the first time in so long. I was scared, but it was my own, my own life, my own world. My future. And I imagined if she could she would be happy for me. She’d send cards. Saved cards, whose messages could still be made out under the scribbled scratches, always signed “Love mom” with a scratchy heart at the bottom. It was the only way she could care. All she had left to offer. But it has been a few months. Something which I was only alerted to as the name displayed on my phone. I didn’t want to answer. I wanted to be strong in my conviction. But I couldn’t. Not if she needed me.
As I answered I stayed silent.
“Hey kiddo” his voice broke, the shared silence, the endearment always so void, only used when I was needed, which chilled my bones. I swallowed hard to try and dissipate the growing barrier at my throat.
“hey”
“Mom’s…” With that alone tears were falling. I got up from my bed to close my dorm door. I couldn’t let my roommates see me like this. I slid down against the wall staring out at the buildings ahead. The small bit of the lake. The future I had. “She’s not doing well”. My eyes dulled to the landscape ahead.
“Her condition or?”
“It’s cancer. Brain cancer. It’s not deadly yet, but she needs to start treatment and-”
“I’ll be home on Saturday,” I said before hanging up. I couldn’t hear the details.
I sat on that floor for a long time. Hoping if I never got up I could stay in the before. In the future before me. I watched as the sun set on me. As my frame drained with the final light. As the day darkened. As my roommate knocked. I got up and did my best to get back to it. To bury it. But I saw it in your eyes. You knew. I was too consumed for anger to breathe at the time, but I hated that. I hated it all. My fucking fate. My mother’s fate. My fucking useless father. That schizophrenia wasn’t enough. That I would care for her until her dying breath. Always going back home. Tethered. Seemingly being had to ensure someone would always care for her. The daughters duty. I’d never had kids. Never subject someone to that fate. Because you can’t not care. I cursed the many Gods and gods I didn’t belive in, I spited the universe’s way of curating crueled fate, despite uncaring. Harm without reason. Punishment without salvation.
My final day of freedom, until death.