Burden

*-chapter eighteen-*

After the events of yesterday, I feel an overwhelming urge to see my mother. Despite the conflicting thoughts in my head, I decide it's essential to check in on her. It's time to set aside the doubts and listen to my heart.

As I walk into the flower shop, the familiar chime of the bell greets me, and the sweet fragrance of flowers envelops the air. The friendly old lady behind the counter beams at me, accustomed to my routine. "Hello, sweetie, you need another bouquet for your mother?" she asks with a warm smile.

last time i bought a flower bouquet it was from real creepy guy so i thought best i go back to my usual store to buy it.

"Yes, I do," I reply, reciprocating the smile. The colorful array of flowers beckons, and I take a moment to choose a combination that radiates positivity and warmth. Each bloom carefully selected becomes a symbol of my love and concern for my mother.

With the freshly acquired bouquet in hand, I proceed to the hospital where my mother is staying. The vibrant colors of the flowers contrast with the sterile surroundings of the medical facility. As I walk through the hallways, the familiar scent of antiseptic hangs in the air, a stark reminder of the environment my mother is enduring.

Upon reaching her room, I take a deep breath to steel myself for whatever lies behind the door. Knocking softly, I enter after hearing her gentle acknowledgment. "Mum, I brought you some flowers," I announce, my voice a mix of warmth and concern. The bouquet serves as a silent reassurance, a small attempt to bring a touch of brightness to her challenging circumstances. 

In a state of shock, I watch as my mother dismisses the flowers without even bothering to look up. Her actions convey a bitterness that cuts through me. "I'm sorry," I manage to say, my voice trembling, but she shows no signs of acknowledgment.

Suddenly, her gaze meets mine, and anger ignites in her eyes. "Sorry? How dare you even come and visit. John told me everything you said to him," she accuses, the words laced with disappointment and resentment.

Panic sets in as I try to comprehend the situation. "What do you mean?" I stammer, desperately searching for an explanation.

"Don't play dumb. I should've believed him from day one. You're nothing to me. All you've done is be a burden," she seethes, her words like daggers stabbing into my already wounded heart. The room feels suffocating as her accusations hang in the air.

Tears well up in my eyes as I desperately try to defend myself. "I don't know what he told you, but I would never..." My voice trails off, drowned out by her relentless tirade.

She interrupts me with a bitter laugh. "Save it. Your lies won't change anything. You're just like your father, always causing trouble."

The weight of her words bears down on me, the pain almost too much to bear. I try to plead with her, to make her understand, but she refuses to listen. The conversation spirals into a tumult of accusations, resentment, and shattered emotions, leaving me feeling utterly defeated.

As the tension in the room escalates, a nurse enters, sensing the distress. "Is everything okay in here?" she inquires, her professional demeanor trying to diffuse the intense atmosphere.

My mother, wiping away a tear, gestures towards me accusingly. "This troublemaker is causing a scene. I don't want her here."

The nurse looks at me, her expression a mix of concern and understanding. "Perhaps it's best to give each other some space for now. Emotions can run high, and we want what's best for the patient's well-being."

Reluctantly, I nod, realizing that my attempt to mend things has only caused more pain. As I exit the room, the nurse follows, offering a sympathetic glance before gently closing the door behind us. The weight of the strained relationship with my mother lingers, leaving me with a heavy heart. 

The nurse catches up with me, offering a comforting hand on my shoulder. "She's just having a bad day. Don't take it to heart, okay? The doctors are adjusting her medication, and sometimes it can be a challenging process."

In the face of the nurse's comforting words, all I can manage is a silent nod. My eyes brim with unshed tears as I grapple with the emotional turmoil brought on by my mother's harsh words. The conflicting desire to be there for her and the pain of her accusations weigh heavily on my heart.

Taking a deep breath, I remind myself that mental health struggles can often manifest in hurtful words. It's a delicate balance between offering support and maintaining personal boundaries. As I walk away from the hospital, I carry both the hope for my mother's recovery and the burden of the words she spoke.

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