Denial's Not Just a Feeling

Mother's Fight

“I can’t deal with all of this anymore.” She brought the knife up to her neck slowly.

                “NO!” Her daughter screamed. She froze with the knife pressed up against her windpipe. She stared at her daughter with tears straying from her eyes. “No,” her daughter lowered her voice, her whole body and voice shaking. “No, just please put the knife down. Please,” she begged, licking her lips.

                Mother said nothing, only pressed the knife harder against her windpipe. Blood slowly started to trickle down her neck. Spots of red formed on her white blouse and on the dark pavement.

                The wind picked up, sending a chill down Daughter’s spine. She stared at Mother helplessly. She took a step towards Mother, only to have her mimic her with a step backwards. Daughter whimpered. “Mother, please don’t do this. Please,” a lump formed in her throat too big for her to swallow, “let me help me. I can. Me and Grandma both. Just please put the knife down.” Daughter slowly started stepping toward Mother with her hand up, palm out, wanting to get the knife away from her.

                Mother kept stepping back as Daughter kept trying to approach her. She shook her head, allowing the knife to dig deeper into her windpipe for more blood to stain her blouse and the pavement. “You and your Grandmother can’t help me!”

                “But—“

                “Do you know how long I’ve wanted to just let go of this life?”

                “N-no.” Daughter gulped down saliva and tried to moisten her lips with her tongue to no avail.

                “So fucking long,” Mother snapped. Daughter whimpered at her harsh tone. “This is too much for me and nothing seems to ever go right,” Mother softened her tone to that of sorrow. She caught Daughter’s shaky gaze as she walked towards her gripping the knife and pushing it further into her. “Do you know how long I’ve been depressed for?”

                “I-I-I thought it was only miner. You-you said you haven’t thought about killing yourself since that Christmas with the tree.”

                More blood dripped onto the pavement as she continued to walk barefoot towards Daughter. “And since then too much has happened that I can’t handle it anymore.”

                “B-but you have me and Grandma that can help you.”

                Mother stopped in front of Daughter, a puddle of blood quickly starting to form from the amount of blood that came from Mother’s windpipe. Daughter stared at it; her tears mixing with the blood. “Your Grandmother can’t help me and neither can you,” Mother hissed, slowing bring the knife across the front of her throat. Daughter watched her do it. Mother’s face had no signs of sorrow or depression, just anger and harshness. Like she was blaming Daughter for her actions.

                “Mother . . .” Daughter whimpered as blood flowed down Mother’s throat like Niagara Falls. Except the scene in front of Daughter wasn’t close to magnificent as was Niagara Falls. They were so happy then—just watching the water flow noisily down the side and taking pictures and just enjoying the moment they had together. Those were the moments she cherished.

                Mother’s face started going pale from what Daughter could see with her only light being the moon. More and more blood fell from her throat, onto her now dark red stained blouse and changing the blood at their feet from a puddle to a pond of blood. Daughter bit her trembling lip. Her teeth chattered as she saw a wave of relief and a gentleness watch over Mother and into her eyes. Mother’s body swayed with relaxation and her grip on the knife loosened until her hand fell limply to her side and the knife fell to the ground.

                Everything happened so fast that it left Daughter in a daze: the knife clanked to the floor—the noise echoing in her ears; Mother falling lifelessly to the ground and laying in her own pool of blood. But what really frightened Daughter was the look on Mother’s face when she took her final breath.

                The corners of her lips turner up in a fine color of violet, her wavy-straight-curly shoulder length, brown hair soaking up the blood like her hair was its own personal sponge, her light blue eyes staring straight through Daughter’s brown ones kindly, her face a perfect look of serene and the skin to her throat peeled back to her collarbone so all her flesh was seen.

                Daughter shook violently as she froze to her spot just staring down at Mother.

                Mother.

                Tears flowed down quickly, dripping onto Mother’s lifeless body.

                Mother was one of only three people that she knew actually cared for her. Mother had put up with so much since she was young and finally couldn’t take it anymore. Now, she was gone and Daughter couldn’t help thinking that she could have done something more to help Mother.

                Maybe listened more or helped for around the house or tried harder to find a job so all the financial stress wasn’t on Mother. But she didn’t do anything like that and felt it was partially her fault that her Mother went to that extreme.

                Daughter always worried about Mother—knowing that she was in a form of depression, watching her have a mental breakdown at Christmas and knowing that she had thought of killing herself—but she didn’t do anything about it. She just stood by and watched Mother crumble.

                Daughter swayed. She felt light headed and that the world was spinning. Her vision blurred until she saw nothing.