so scared, but I couldn’t remember the last time I saw you scared. You have been burdened for four years, and not once have I heard you say ‘why me?’
“That’s all I could think when I was sitting there today, waiting for my life to change. I thought about what a strong, brave girl you are, and what a horrible, awful mother I’ve been to you.”
Words escape me. I sit unmoving.
“I was so preoccupied in busying myself because the moment I stopped, all I could think about is how I failed you. I couldn’t help you. That’s why I wanted to help so many others. What kind of a mother can’t help her child? I didn’t know what to do. I was so afraid of saying the wrong thing, so I said nothing at all.
“I come from a family that doesn’t show emotion. But then I met your father, and he changed that. He showed me it was okay to cry and laugh and love. And we had that. But then you got sick. I didn’t know how to act. My only child was sick, and I couldn’t do a damn thing to make her better. All the money in the world made no difference. At the end of the day, you were dying, and I had to accept that.”
She swallows, while I’m barely breathing.
“I didn’t know how to act around you anymore, and I blamed you for that. I am so ashamed of myself. We grew further and further apart, and that was entirely my fault. It hurt to be around you, and I distanced myself because I was—I am—a coward.”
A tear slides down my cheek, her confession stabbing at my heart.
“This isn’t an excuse; this is an explanation, one that has come too late. But today, sitting there in that doctor’s office, I came to realize what a truly remarkable woman you are. I have never met anyone more courageous than you, and I am so proud to call you my daughter.”
I jump up, unable to sit a moment longer. “I needed you, Mom. But you made me feel like I was never good enough.”
She too stands, but I’m thankful she doesn’t try to reach out. “I know. I can never apologize enough for letting you down. I don’t expect you to forgive me, and regardless of what the results were today with Dr. Carter, I would have told you. I’m not telling you this to unburden my guilt. I’m telling you this because I want you to know that none of this was ever your fault.”
A staggered sob breaks free. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to hear. That and…
She places a hand over her mouth, tears I’ve not seen before slipping free. “I love you, Lola. And I’m so sorry for everything. Please forgive me.”
Wrapping my arms around myself, I’m unable to hold back the years of rejection and sadness I’ve kept bottled away. This does not excuse her behavior, but it’s a start. If death has taught me anything, it’s that life is too short to hold grudges.
She waits patiently, sniffing back her sorrow. Her entire life, she’s been so afraid to be vulnerable, but at this moment, she’s never looked stronger. I don’t fully understand her reasoning, but the prospect of death makes you do weird things—like voluntary euthanasia.
I could walk from this room and tell her the apology has come too late. But what would that achieve? It takes more effort to hate her than it does to accept that she made a mistake. A huge mistake, but one she seems truly sorry for.
Wiping away my tears, I take a steadying breath. She looks on the verge of breaking down. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
She blinks twice, not expecting that response. It’s the best I can muster. I’m not ready to play happy family just yet, but I’m willing to try.
“Thank you.” She smiles, but it’s bittersweet. I’m pleased at least one of us received good news today.
So what happens now? It seems too clichéd to give her a hug and pretend all is forgiven. But on the flipside, I don’t want her to think I haven’t appreciated her honesty, so coming to a compromise, I raise my fist.
She peers down at it, moving her lips from side to side.
Unable to help myself, I playfully mock, “You can do it!”
A lopsided smirk plays at her lips.
She doesn’t leave me hanging and softly bumps her fist against mine, shaking her head at my absurdity.