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My mother’s hair, the color of dark chocolate, is now flecked with silver, and her hazel eyes once shone brighter than any star. She’s tall. Regal. I wish she’d hold her head higher because she has the cheekiest smile when I’m lucky enough to witness it.
After my father left, she wilted, like I fear I will. A flower in full bloom only to be sentenced to an endless winter.
She always hid the darkest parts of my father’s personality. She sheltered his demons—probably nurtured them—so we wouldn’t have to fall prey to his outbursts.
I’m afraid when he walked away, she didn’t let his demons go with him, and they haunt her to this day.
We weren’t always this way. Before that night, she was the mother everyone envied—beautiful, charismatic, funny. The type of mother who held my hand so tight crossing the road, it hurt. She was my best friend, and with one look, she knew when something was wrong. She used to tiptoe into my room and lie with me until I was ready to speak or simply run her fingers through my hair until I fell asleep.
She can’t read me anymore because she would need to look at me to see it.
I didn’t just lose my father that night. I lost my mother too.
He took the brightest parts of her with him. One last selfish act. She remains in the memories, always stuck, never moving forward. She’s a shell of who she used to be.
Empty.
“Are you excited about the new job?” Amy nudges me, bringing me back.
I’m lost in a daze today.
“Nervous. It’s different.”
“You worked with women when you first left college, right?”
“I did, and I’ve been a part of studies for domestic abuse survivors.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “Change is scary,” I admit, looking back at my mother.
“Change is good. You’ve got this, sis.”
I chew the inside of my cheek, studying each of my mother’s movements. She holds a rose between her fingers, smells, and smiles.
I’m jealous of a rose.
“Does she know what my new job is?”
Amy hums. “I told her.”
The irony isn’t lost on me.
I’m spending my life trying to help women like my mother, when I can’t help her.
Maybe someday.
Maybe someday, she’ll look at me long enough to see she can get through it.
When I leave, I hug my sister and kiss the top of my mother’s head.
“I’ll call by next week,” I promise.
“Claire,” she calls as I open the gate. When I turn, her eyes connect with mine for a quick second, and in that second, I see all the pain it causes.
She dips her chin, her focus back on the roses.
My chest aches.
“I’m so proud of you, baby girl.”
A single tear falls before I have the chance to catch it.
