The Woman is my Mother

All characters in this story are at least eighteen years old.

THE WOMAN IS MY MOTHER

Victoria is my mother. I never had a crush on her like some sons do, but I always knew she was attractive. I wasn't blind. She was a beautiful, tall, olive-skinned Italian woman. Her hair was long and black, her face was shaped like a model, and her body was the image of perfection. She didn't wear the clothes she wore to make her body look good; her body made the clothes she wore look good. She was an energetic fireball, and everyone enjoyed her company.

That image of beauty that was my mother began to fade when my father passed. She lived for him and her devotion to him was endless... until it ended suddenly. We knew the world around her crumbled when he died unexpectedly. What we didn't know was that she was never able to pick up the pieces. I blame my sister and I for not seeing the obvious signs of her distress. Looking back, it was stupid of us not to see what she was becoming.

In the two years that followed her world burning down, she let herself go. The exercise room that she built by hand and used daily had turned into a storage area. Clothes were draped over the handrails of the treadmill. The free weights had a layer of dust on them that advertised their lack of usage. Her yoga mat remained on the floor from the last time she let it air out. It was also covered in dust.

Her fridge's inventory went from kale, yogurt and natural juices to beer, microwave meals and unopened cigarette packs. The house slowly began to smell like stale cigarette smoke when she slowly transitioned from smoking outside to inside. Depending on the time of day one of us would stop by, there may or may not have been beer or liquor bottles sitting empty on the counter. Once I put all the pieces together, I knew Mom had hit rock bottom.

"She's low, Maria, real low," I told my sister.

I called my sister to tell her that I intended to go to Mom and break her out of her destructive cycle. I knew it would mean leaving home for a bit to live with her and make sure she was making progress.

"I know," she said quietly. "We've both known for a while what was happening. Can I help?"

I exhaled deeply as I looked around my apartment, searching for an answer I knew wouldn't come to me.

"Probably, but I don't know how yet. I promise to let you know when I know. You have a family to look after, though. Let me take care of this and I'll keep you updated."

My sister got married and had children quickly. She looked a lot like Mom did at her age but didn't have the same energy about her that I remembered Mom having. It wasn't that she was lazy. She worked a full-time job while Mom didn't have to. Maria was bright and bubbly like Mom but only when all the pieces of the puzzle that was her life were in place. Otherwise, she looked tired and overworked.

"I appreciate you," she told me. "I'd like to know everything that happens and when it will be good to stop by."

"Of course," I replied. "I'm glad you mentioned that because I am prepared to have to be a little harsh with her sometimes, and she may not be in the mood most nights initially for guests. You know how stubborn she can be."

"Oh, I know. Thank you again."

"No problem."

We hung up and I spent the evening packing some things and figuring out what my goals were for our mother. I knew I wanted her to stop drinking and smoking right away. I also knew those were the toughest things to accomplish. I determined that the best thing I could start with was making our meals for her and get her out of her bad eating habits. In my mind, that would give her a boost of energy and help clear her mind. She might just snap out of it all, and that was the best I could hope for.

The next morning, I refrained from telling her I was coming over at all, let alone what my plans were. I packed my car, locked up the house and set about on my way back to my childhood home. When I got there, the condition of the lawn and gardens was a reminder of what I was there to do. The house was neglected, and the general curb appeal of our childhood home had gone away.

You could look at the house and see the state of the woman inside, I thought.

I didn't bring my things with me to the door as I wanted to get a good grasp of everything before I let her know what my plans were.

"Oh, hey, Petie," she said in a groggy tone.

Her voice changed from the soft and smooth voice I remembered to a harsh, grizzly tone that reminded me of old women who'd smoked their entire lives. I knew it could also have been because she had woken up recently and her energy level was perpetually depleted.

It seemed my brain was playing tricks on me. I already knew everything from the curb appeal of the house to Mom's appearance was not desirable, but it all felt fresh. It was like my mind was making it all new to motivate me to do what I went there to do.

"Hey, Mom, how are you?"

"I'm alive," was all she said in response.

It was all she ever said anymore.

The house smelled like cigarette smoke, and I immediately noticed empty bottles of beer on the kitchen table. I knew I had my work cut out for me.

"What brings you here this early today?"

"You do," I said frankly. "It's been a long time, Mom."

She sat down in her recliner, and I sat on the opposite love seat.

"What do you mean? You were just here last week," she said, looking confused.

"That's not what I mean. It's been a long time since Dad left us and I don't like what I see here."

She looked around and I could tell she was embarrassed by her surroundings. I could see she was on the verge of crying, and I didn't want that so, I jumped right into it.

"If you're willing," I started, giving her the illusion of a choice, "I will stay with you and help you bounce back."

"I don't need help, Son. I just need time," she said.

Her tone made me think she had indeed given up and was just saying the things she said to herself those past two years.

"You've had time, Mom. It's time now to change your path."

Mom used to be big on metaphors and whatnot.

"Your father's death ended that path, honey," she said.

"No, it didn't. It may have changed it but you're so full of life," I lied. "You can make your own path and become strong again."

Her eyes opened a little wider.

"You used to be the strongest woman I knew, and I want to help you get that back. I know it's not gone from you."

"Honey, I'm glad to see how positive you are."

It was an odd statement to me. She didn't accept my offer, nor did she decline it. Her position at that moment told me there was something left worth working for so, I pushed a little farther.

"I'm positive I can help you," I said. "Will you let me?"

"I'll never get back what I had," she said in a defeated whisper.

"Can I try?"

She looked at me strangely and I didn't think much of it, but she never said a word in response to that question. I wanted to show her what I meant. I looked around for something I could do right away and saw two opportunities. I walked to each window that was visible and opened it to bring fresh air into the house. Next, I walked into the kitchen and went to throw the empty bottles away. I was disappointed to see a nearly full trash can of other empty bottles. Regardless, I placed the empty bottles in with the others and walked back to her. I stood next to her and put my hand on her shoulder.

"There's a couple simple things right off the bat," I said happily.

I could smell the fresh air over the stale smoke and pointed that out.

"It already smells better in here. I don't have much of a plan here, but I'd like to share with you what I came up with and see if you'll let me help you."

She nodded without saying anything or even looking at me. I hated seeing her like that, but I was hopeful.

"I'll take care of the lawn and gardens this week. We'll go out shopping and replace the food in your fridge with what you used to eat. Having a nice home to look at will help bring back your smile and eating right will help restore your energy levels."

She nodded again, more enthusiastically that time, but still not a word was said. I laid out the long-term plan.

"Once we're eating properly, we'll work on getting rid of the cigarettes and we'll replace the beer with a couple bottles of wine, just like you used to enjoy. You'll feel even better once we can accomplish that."

"You keep saying 'we'," she mumbled.

"Yeah, I'm going to help. That's why I'm here. Since I know those are big tasks, I want to stay here with you and help you through it all. Everything I have you do; I will do as well. You're not alone here, Mom."

Mom just sat there and stared at the floor.

"Is that okay?" I asked.

"Yeah," she grumbled and remained just sitting there.

"I want to start with the fridge. Do you want to help me do that?"

I wanted her to feel excited about changing but I knew it would be an uphill battle with her. When she said she would help, I was excited. We went to the fridge, and I realized her true intent. I also realized something startling. She didn't want to throw anything out. She only came with me to try and make sure I didn't do what I said I wanted to do. She claimed she wanted to keep everything and even when asking again if she wanted to eat better, and she confirmed she did, she still insisted that we keep everything in the fridge.

I knew Mom needed something more than I could provide alone. I took some time to consider what transpired and come up with an amended plan.

That week, I accomplished several tasks. Everything I did was done in a certain order for a certain reason. I mowed the lawn first. When I told her to smoke outside, she routinely complimented me on how well the yard looked. When I took her out grocery shopping, she fought me every step of the way, but I ended up winning the battle. We restocked the fridge the way I suggested. Finally, I scheduled her to attend regular therapy sessions.

I wanted to do it all on my own but Mom taught me a long time ago that a man with a rope does not a mountain climber make. I had to use every available resource I could to get Mom to the finish line.

Once a week we both went. I was there to ensure Mom was forthcoming about her situation. She was shy about opening up at first, but she ended up talking at length about everything. It was an emotional first month as she described the loss of her husband and how it devastated her. We walked through all the stages of grief and began to tackle why it was taking so long for her to bounce back. In the last session I attended, things changed.

"In your opinion, what's holding you back from living a happy life?" the therapist asked.

Mom looked at me for a moment, then back to the therapist.

"It feels like my life also ended that day," she said.

The therapist continued explaining that it clearly hadn't and that she was living and breathing right there in that office.

"There's still life in there, Victoria. We can help, but ultimately, it's going to be up to you to pull yourself out. We will help you, but you must take the initiative."

Mom's answers became erratic at that point like she was dodging the truth of the matter. The therapist caught on to that as well and decided on a new path for her treatment.

"I think your mother might feel freer to release what's inside if you weren't here at our next session."

I looked at Mom and her eyes were almost pleading with me to take that advice.

"Absolutely!" I announced. "I'm here for whatever she needs and if she needs to talk without me here, I'll make that happen."

As the therapist was about to confirm Mom's next appointment, Mom looked at me.

"Can you wait in the car?"

The therapist stopped writing and looked at me. I stumbled over my words for a moment but said I would do whatever she needed. I left the room and decided to call my sister while I waited.

"Mom is going to start going to therapy by herself for a while," I told her.

"That's good, Pete."

"Oh, I know it is, but there's something there that she doesn't want me to know."

Maria shuffled around a bit, and I heard a creaky door close. I knew she had gone out to her back porch for privacy.

"Any idea what it could be?" she asked.

"I've dug into every part of her life since I've lived there except one and quite frankly, if that's what she's talking to the doctor about, I don't need to be there."

"Sex," she stated bluntly.

"Yeah."

The line was quiet for a bit. I was about to say something about how my sister might need to come in and help with that, she interrupted.

"Mom used to be hot as fuck. She could get right back there quick enough and get whatever man she wanted. I don't know what her mental issue is."

"I've heard about these things before where the surviving spouse has decided that they made a vow and being with anyone else would dishonor that vow."

"That's some boomer shit, right there," she said with a chuckle.

"I know, but it's hard to talk them out of stuff like that."

"Yeah, but if she's so depressed about it, what did she plan to do? Just smoke and drink herself into an early grave?"

"Dude, I don't know!" I told her. "That seems to be the case. Maybe I can find out what the issue is after a few weeks.

Maria asked me how everything else was going and I gave her the progress report. She was happy with the changes that have been made and agreed with me that she would make it out it as good as she ever was. I told her I would give her another update after I was able to attend the sessions again. She thanked me again for going to help and apologized for not being there as much as I was. Again, I told her that her family was her primary concern and that I would let her know if things grew beyond my control, but I thought that time had passed.

Several weeks later, I was invited back to the therapist's office. The doctor told me upfront what was going to happen. She explained that Mom was going to tell me a lot of things and that the session was going to be a discussion between Mom and I so I could understand how things got where they did. The doctor said she was only there to help move the discussion along if needed.

"Sure thing," I said.

Mom started shyly.

"You know your father was my world before you kids came. He was my world, and I was devoted to him. Well, when you kids came along—" she said before being interrupted by the therapist.

"You're skipping an important step," the therapist said curtly. "It's important to tell the entire story so that the things that are happening today make sense."

Mom exhaled in annoyance but nodded in agreement.

"I was devoted to him to such an extent that all the habits I formed were for him. I ate well and exercised to look good for him and have the energy to keep up with him."

Mom briefly looked at the doctor before continuing.

"No other man ever made me want to commit to them like your father did and I did it well."

Her tone changed slightly as if she were being challenged.

"I did it better than any woman he ever had or could have ever had. He told me himself! As he encouraged me in our younger years, I changed my behavior."

She rattled something off in Italian like she does when she gets flustered but refocused with the help of her therapist.

"He's a grown man and you even assured me that it wouldn't be his first experience," she said sternly to the therapist.

I had a look of confusion on my face, but Mom put a finger up like she always used to when she was getting to her point. Mom was a talker, and she knew it took her some time to say what she meant.

"I would perform for him. When dinner was made, I made it wearing the sexiest things I owned. I had a whole second closet full of things only he would ever see me in. Sometimes I wouldn't wear anything at all."

I smiled at Mom as I saw the woman I used to know being kindled back to life.

"I was sexy, Peter," she started before trailing off. The spark had faded again. "My devotion to him has never waivered and now he's not here to enjoy it."

I looked at the doctor and then back to Mom.

"We knew you were loyally devoted to him, Mom. We even thought that the home gym was there because you refused to show your body to the men of the neighborhood in revealing clothing. You weren't vane enough want that kind of attention."

A faint smile appeared on Mom's lips for a moment.

"Your father bought me the gym equipment because he liked working out with me," she said.

The doctor made a gesture at Mom for her to continue.

"Okay, fine," Mom said, waving a dismissive hand at the doctor. "I used to tease your father when I worked out as well. Nearly every aspect of our lives at home were teasing each other with our bodies."

Mom looked me over.

"Then I became pregnant with your sister. We talked for many hours over several weeks about how we could keep up our little games. Both of you are the best things we ever accomplished together and under no circumstance did either of us think that having children was going to be the end of our intimate life. We just found new ways to do it where your innocence would not be breached."

"So, what does this all mean? Are you saying that you could never do these things with another man?"

Mom nodded quickly and replied, "That's precisely what I'm saying."

She got upset and sat emotionally unstable for a moment before getting up to leave. She announced she would be in the car waiting for me. When the door slammed shut, I looked at the doctor.

"I'm not sure what this is all about," I admitted.

"Your father is the reason she ate well and exercised like she did. She insists she is unable to bring another man in her life. That brings on many of the problems you've identified and some you haven't."

I was curious.

"What haven't I identified?"

"Your mother's eating habits, and lack of exercise aren't completely due to your father's passing."

My inexperience prevented me from understanding what the doctor was getting at, and it must have been written all over my face.

"Your mother still has needs, you see, and her active devotion to your late father is preventing her from seeking relief in a healthy way."

"I'm not sure I want an answer to this but is she seeking relief in an unhealthy way?"

The doctor set her things down on the table next to her and removed her glasses.

Oh boy, here we go, I thought.

"Your mother wants to feel desired again but cannot bring herself to let another man in. The energy you grew up observing in her was all rooted in the desire your father had for her. Without him, she sees little reason to do the things she used to do... or anything aside from simply existing."

Without thinking, I quickly said, "Well, that sounds like depression."

"Part of it is, of course. The rest is simply the result of losing the love of her life and there's no pill for that."

"Okay, so what am I supposed to do with that knowledge?" I asked.

"It's my belief that she simply needs a little push out the door," she said simply.

I narrowed my eyes at the therapist.

"Can we stop beating around the bush here? I feel like you two talked about something and came to some conclusion that Mom didn't want me to hear with her in the same room."

"Well," she said rocking her head side to side indifferently, "yes and no. Have you considered being the one that gives her a reason? I'm not talking about being the direct replacement for your father. You're a grown man, as I told her and she threw back in my face, and if what your mother has to say is true, you have a very level-headed and mature approach to things. I tend to agree based on what I know about you thus far."

I thought about what the doctor said and what she was probably getting at.