I couldn’t find my keys and it was all my fault. That is the negative thing about living by yourself. You have no one to blame for the dirty dishes, missing items, and growing stack of junk mail but yourself.
I had 10 minutes to get to physical therapy. It took 4 minutes to get out of the parking garage, 1 minute at the light, and another 4 to the office.
2 minutes later, I found the keys in the back pocket of my blue jeans. The ones with the hole in them.
3 minutes later I made it to my car, but there was just one problem. It was locked. I clicked the unlock button again. And again. And again. The battery was dead.
How? It’s a new car. Actually, no. The car was already 3 years old. A normal amount of time for a battery to need replaced.
I didn’t have time for this.
My back and neck hurt. Teams notifications were piling up. Another job rejection found my inbox. Could I skip ahead a few months, maybe? Jump past all these things?
Back still hurting, I canceled my physical therapy appointment. Inside, drawers were rummaged through looking for my missing Triple A card. So much clutter. The desk drawers were filled with papers I didn’t know what to do with but didn’t want to throw away. There it was. The Triple A Card at last, and it wasn’t expired.
And then as I reached for the card, my hand paused. There, tucked beside it, was a photograph I hadn’t seen in years.
It was of my mom. She was was holding me. Next to us was a blue birthday cake. I had just turned 1.
She looks so young. She was younger than I am now. Already a mother, already a home owner, her life set in motion.
There were no wrinkles on her face. She looks so healthy and happy. I wonder what she was thinking? I wonder who else was there just outside the photo frame. That was a long time ago.
It was before my brother.
Before family trips to the cabin.
Before I’d move away
Before my depression.
Before life became what it is.
Before her first round of chemo.
34 years has gone by since that photo. I don’t have 34 more years with my mother, I don’t have any time to waste.
I have to lean in to all the moments: the stress, and tears, the laughter, and back pain. I have to call Triple A. I have to keep on keep on. I have to hold my mom’s hand through the chemo.
