“‘Old man?’ What is this, the 70s?”
“Are you hassling me for having a knowledge of pop culture?”
“No, I’m hassling you for sounding like a boomer.”
“That’s it. Where’s Mom?” I ask, and he laughs. “How is she?”
“She’s good. She spent the morning in the garden.”
Moving two years ago was a herculean task for my mom. We planned it for half a year, made the master bedroom a safehaven that was decorated exclusively using things from our old apartment, and had her watch virtual tours of the new house daily. She got to decorate it slowly, picking out the flow that would be most comfortable for her.
It took her over a month to be able to walk into the backyard, but it’s become an extension of the house—of a place she associates with safety. It was part of the reason I chose that particular house. It has a sunroom with floor to ceiling windows and a yard with tall, thick fences that project security. Every tiny step out of her comfort zone matters.
“And you won’t believe it,” Dad says. “She bought a virtual reality headset.”
“Why? She hates video games.”
“I know, but she’s not playing video games. She’s going on world tours.”
“World tours?”
“She said if I get to travel the country in my new RV, she gets to climb the Eiffel Tower.”
“What?” I laugh. “Did you get the RV?”
“I did! It’s beautiful. Bigger than our old apartment.”
I laugh, a fuzzy feeling in my chest. Dad has always sacrificed for our family. But somehow he’s managed to sacrifice time with Mom so I can feel special, too. One of the best parts about my mom is that she doesn’t begrudge my dad doing things without her. “That’s awesome,” I say. “But what’s this about Mom climbing the Eiffel Tower?”
“The headset is incredible! I can’t believe how immersive it is. She got on the stair stepper while she had on the headset, and she climbed the Eiffel Tower. She loves this thing.”
“I’m glad! That sounds really cool for her.”
“It is. And her favorite part is the MLB app. She’s been going back and watching all your games.”
A wrecking ball crashes into my chest, breaking my heart.
Absolutely shattering it.
I’ve never blamed her for her condition. I’ve done my best to understand and to accommodate her in every way I can.
But this hurts.
It destroys me.
I spent my childhood wishing she was healthy enough that we could do dumb things like go look at Christmas lights or have her take me to see Santa at the mall. But more than anything, I wanted her to come to one of my games someday.
I used to dream about it.Literally. I had a recurring dream of her sitting in the bleachers with my dad, cheering for me louder than anyone. I would wake up filled with a mixture of panic and joy. Panic, because I didn’t want her to break down like she did when I was a kid. And joy, because she wasoutside of the house.
I haven’t had one of those dreams in years. I stopped looking for her at my games before I even had braces. When Braden told me the other night that he saw my mom at the grocery store, I didn’t feel a moment of hope, only annoyance that he would eventhinkto say something so asinine.
My mom is amazing, but she doesn’t leave her safe place.
And now, she’ll never have to. She’ll never have an incentive to try again.
I spent so many years wishing my mom could go out, and now she’s found even more reason to stay in. She can sit on her couch and have her head in the stands.
“How were the meetings?” Dad asks, but my heart isn’t in the conversation.
