Waking Shadows

Chapter 22 A Broken Mother Mummy, it's me . . . i'm back

Chapter 22

A Broken Mother

Mummy, it’s me . . . I’m back

Lyric and I arrived at the hospital and I gave the small amount of details I knew. Luckily, it was enough for them to accept my rights for a visitation card. I had to wait half an hour for it to be issued to me, and in that time I had a pile of necessary forms to fill out.

   We were given directions to my mother’s ward and took the walk with anxious anticipation. The place smelled sweet, but musky, with a warmth that smothered me. I should have been grateful for the warmth as it was below freezing outside. It always was in the month of January, but I was so nervous I couldn’t be grateful for any privileges.

   I gripped onto Lyric’s hand. He didn’t have to speak, he knew exactly what I was going through and how I would be feeling inside—he knew me well enough. He knew how much of a big deal this was. I desperately wanted him to be by my side when I faced my mother, but as he was identical to Lyndon, and Lyndon’s presence had started the spiralling mental effect on her, as one could imagine. From everything I had been told, his arrival had been the catalyst for sending her over the edge. So it wasn’t a very good idea for her to see Lyric at all.

   The nurse walked us to a room down the long and narrow white corridor. She didn’t speak much. All I could focus on was our footsteps that echoed all the way down the corridor. Everywhere else was disturbingly quiet. I came to the conclusion, if the people in here only had that to listen to all day long—no wonder they were insane!

“Here we are, Miss Scott. Take this buzzer in with you and don’t hesitate to use it if need be. Someone will be straight down.” She held out a white square item to me, which looked like a walkie talkie with a large orange button on the front.

I took it with caution and uncertainty. “But why would I. .?”

“Your mother hasn’t had many visitors stop by since she’s been here so she may get a little frightened. She may, I didn’t say she will, so don’t go looking so worried, dear. Be gentle with her if she doesn’t know who you are. In her condition, 99% of the time they don’t remember much, if anything, from their previous life before they came in here.” The small African nurse waited at the open door and watched me as I entered.

   Lyric lagged behind. He looked far from being in his comfort zone and my heart leapt for him at one last defy of what my heart was telling me I should do. I wasn’t in my comfort zone either. Never the less, my legs kept on going in the direction of the door and I walked into the room where my mother was seated quietly in the corner, watching tentatively, a small tv screen.

“Take a seat, Sir.” The nurse acknowledged Lyric and pointed to a chair outside the room. She then entered the room behind me and closed the door.

   I stood there frozen with baited breath. I was crying out—on the inside. I still had that image of her putting washing away on that Saturday morning as she sang away to herself, bringing brightness and cheer to our ordinary life. Now, that image evaporated to make way for this new, unwelcome, apparition. This wasn’t the mother I remembered at all.

This isn’t my mother . . . she’s old. My mother was young and pretty, with golden hair and a movie star figure. This lady has long grey hair, is painfully thin, and has a look on her face as if she is one of the living dead!

“You have a visitor, Mrs Scott. I will turn the tv off so you can have a natter,” the nurse said. And she did as she said, even though she hadn’t received an answer from the distant minded old lady in the chair. The nurse pulled another chair over for me to sit down. I did so carefully as not to disturb the grey haired fragile lady that was supposed to be my mother.