The Giver

Everything is blurry. For that second, when you don't know who or where you are. You don't know how you got in that bed, or what you have to do today. Then, everything is processed. You are in your room. The thing above you is the ceiling. The thing on top of you is the duvet. Your mum has cancer and you have to get up and keep her alive. Everything becomes so clear now, this endless existence... self sacrificed, family sacrificed, life sacrificed. I'm not living for myself, I'm living for her. Well at least for the time being. Like a child being called to get up for school, I stubbornly savour the warmth of my feet and the comfort of my pyjamas. Slowly and reluctantly, I uncover my face and shiver from the rush of cold air breathing against my skin. Streaks of sunlight penetrate the window and blind me. Blink. I sit up, drag my feet off the bed. I watch my legs dangle above the off-white polyester carpet, smudged from years of use, feeling, the soft fibres brushing against my feet.

She's up. I hear the groaning from the hallway. I run to grab her pills from the cupboard. Methadone, oxycodone, temozolomide. I'm too tired and the letters all start to blur together. Monday, Monday.... I take out the clearly labelled bottle, caressing the smooth shape of the glass. The cries are becoming more urgent now, louder. I run to the bedroom.

Lying on the bed is the corpse that is my mother. The cancer has ravaged her. Her hair is gone, only a few strands remain clinging to her scalp. Mum's skin is pale, similar to the sheets that cover her. Arms protruding from the covers are stick thin, so easily broken. Her left eye stares blankly at the floor while her right looks directly at me...pleading. I'm sorry mum, I shout on the inside. For all this. Sometimes I watch her and think This is not my mother. She is a shell- an empty chrysalis from which the butterfly has already flown.

It hurts, but I sometimes sit and cry at the thought of what my mother has become. What happened to that strong and confident woman who raised me; made me who I am? That fire in her eyes has left her. I can't see that fight that I had grown to admire...her against the world.

"Mum, I have your medication." Silence. I can hear her breathing, soft and gentle. She looks so tired. "Mum, are you in pain?" She nods her head tensely. I check the clock: 0730 hrs. "Sorry Mum, half an hour to go." Rule 1: Never mess up the schedule. Rule 2: Never mess up the dose. The hospital staff would be proud of me, but I see the disappointment in her eyes, followed by a harrowing groan. I sit down on the stool beside her bed, watching the minutes. Waiting. Doing nothing to ease my mother's pain but be near her.

~

I wait. Ten more minutes. Then she can take the medication. I need to distract her. "Oh Mum. Did I tell you about Hannah? She started school yesterday."

I take my phone from her pocket, scrolling through my texts. "Ah, here it is." I hand her the phone to show the photo Gareth sent me. It was Hannah standing in her school uniform. Her bag sagged to one side and her hair was tied in two tight braids. Emily had a hand gripping her younger sister's shoulder in a tight embrace. I see my mother's eyes land on me and I realise I have started welling up. Hurriedly wiping away the tears I stammer "I'm fine mum. It's ok. At least one of us was there." But in the back of my mind a film role was playing, reminding me of the other things I had missed; dance recitals, birthday parties, soccer games. With each loss I battle the guilt of being a horrible mother for never being there and a bad daughter for hating my mother for it.

That day in the hospital when she was diagnosed, I knew my life was over. I hate that I felt a sense of loss of my own life when my mother had just been given an expiration date. At first I was just angry but now I've stopped asking "Why her?" and I've stopped raging at God. I've worked out there's no sense you can make out of any of this and no one is to blame.

Suddenly, I am brought back to. Her hand is on mine, her skin soft and delicate like tissue paper. Her touch, warm and comforting. I notice she is trembling slightly. A smile crosses her face and I see a glimpse of that woman I knew. I softly squeeze her hand, not wanting to lose these rare moments where her disease gives me permission to connect with my mother. Like kindred spirits we gaze into the other's eyes, reading each other's thoughts and bearing each other's pain.

I see the clock: 0803 hrs. "Mum, I'll go get your pain meds. If you want I can make us some tea?" She nods. "Ok. I'll be right back." I head towards the door, but before I can walk out, I hear a failing voice croak, "Can you also make another one for my daughter? She'll be here soon." My heart breaks. I am just able to get out a stammered "Uh yes, sure..." before I stumble outside and crumble to the floor. Alone once more.