days with my mother

About two years ago I made the worst decision of my life. My fiancé at the time was looking for jobs in the Philadelphia area and accepted one in Croydon, PA. It was just a short trip up I-95 from the house that I owned in Fishtown. She had lost countless hours of her life to commuting over the past several years, so the house was a perfect option.

I backed out at the last minute, electing to stay at home with my parents in south jersey and she moved into my house by herself.

It was definitely a fucked up situation, I know...but something was drawing me to stay here...something I couldn’t quite put my finger on...maybe it was the realization, albeit at the worst time, that I am not a city person...maybe it was the sense that I was somehow needed around the house...maybe it was a combination of both.

Last August I got a call from the local gym that my mom had passed out and was being taken to the emergency room via ambulance. That moment was the most vulnerable I have ever seen my father. At the time, he was recovering from double cataract surgery and could barely see, let alone drive. I took him to the hospital and we were escorted to my mother’s room. It was my first experience of role reversal. I gathered my mom’s information and filled out the forms with the nurse. She spent the night in the hospital for tests and observation and was released the next day.

In late December I was woken up by a loud thump. A few seconds later, my dad called for me to come down stairs. My mom had passed out on the kitchen floor. She was so weak that it took both of us to get her up and to the couch. This was now a cause for concern. Doctor’s appointments were scheduled; blood work and tests were completed. All of the results were normal.

Early one morning in March I heard a loud thump. Immediately, I knew what it was. My dad called out to my mom, who was in the bathroom, but he did not receive a reply. He tried to open the door, but she was blocking it. She had passed out on the floor. I was able to get the door open a tiny bit, just enough to squeeze through, and lifted her onto the toilet seat.

My mom seems to be on track to pass out every three months.

I should have moved to Philadelphia that summer. To this day, I regret my decision, but I have also come to realize the good that has come as a result of my staying here and the fact that these events most likely would have put me back home anyway.