CHRYSALIS

41.

Why did I never care about her enough?

I just took off, galavanting around the world with a sick mother.

I never appreciated her enough.

I was never there for her.

She blamed me.

She hated me.

She died hating me.

I never moved that night. Eventually, the tears stopped but my body never stopped shaking, my phone went unanswered, I couldn't move.

I turned to stone again, and this was much thicker than the last time.

The next day I got up, got showered, charged my phone, and did what I had to do. I called my dad.

"Hi, honey."
"Hi, Dad."

"You comin' home?"

"Yea, I'll fly out on a red-eye tonight."

"Okay...I'm sorry, honey. I'm so sorry I wasn't- I should have, Ah, fuck."

"Don't do that Dad, you know there's nothing you could have done. You don't need to apologize."

"I'll pick you up in the morning, okay? Just let me know what time."

"Okay. I love you."

"I love you too."

I hung up and called the club next, told them that my mom "passed" and I needed to go home. I apologized for the short notice and told them I didn't know when I'd be back. I called every job I had set up for the next two weeks and canceled them.

I bought a one-way ticket home.

I walked out to the living room and found Dante, told him what happened, and told him I would pay my half of the rent a little extra to help out, but I didn't know when I'd be back.

He cried for me, hugged me for a long while, and then helped me pack. It didn't take long to pack up most of my closet and toiletries, I also packed a box of comforting items and scheduled it to be picked up and shipped to my dad's house.

When I was done with the busy work, I was left with nothing to do but think, and that was dangerous. I couldn't think of a single place that would feel safe for me to think. I wanted to be at the beach. I wanted to be in mine and Harry's spot. I knew I could think there.

So I grabbed my purse and my phone and I headed to the subway station that could take me to the next best thing.

That's how I ended up on a bench in Coney Island.

There was a strong breeze that day.

I used to think I'd grow up to be just like my mom. When I was young, she was everything to me. She was vibrant and stunning, she was full of life. She had so much ambition, she was everything I wanted to be.

When she lost that, when the illness took it from her, I didn't know how to relate to her anymore. She was violent, she was cruel, she wasn't herself anymore, it felt like I had lost her then.

I knew it wasn't her fault, but sometimes I didn't know how to separate her from the illness. I just didn't understand how we got here so soon.

I often wonder if I was too difficult for her. I wonder if I shattered her. If my testy attitude and pushy personality just snapped her. I know it's not true, but it doesn't stop the thoughts from coming anyway.

I wonder if subconsciously I did just dump her in that institution and run away. I remember watching her scream at my dad and thinking "Where did my mom go?" What happened to the fun we had? What happened to the family-fun days on Sundays? What happened to my family?