What My Mother Needs

I sat, stunned. Mom didn't love Dad anymore, but blamed him emotionally for what happened to her. Her husband, the man who loved her. I thought death was too good for Grandad.

"He put ideas in my head, ideas that I know are wrong, but he did something to make the feeling of wrong go away. He... wanted me as a lover, and did something in my head that... that..." and she burst into tears.

After a minute she cleared her throat and wiped her eyes. "What you said earlier, about your Dad, that helped. It didn't change the feelings I feel, but it lets me act less hostile towards your Dad than I feel. I want you to tell me that again. Don't ask, tell."

I was confused. She wanted me to tell her she loved Dad, and to act that way? I could do that. I took a deep breath, gathered my thoughts, and spoke.

"Okay, Mom.You have to love Dad like you always have until this happened. You have to show him that you love him, exactly like you used to. He is your husband and he loves you beyond reason, and you will show him the same. You will never give him cause to question your love or your fidelity. How does that sound?" I asked, hoping it would have some effect.

"We'll see if I behave differently towards your father, now," answered Mom.

"Why would my saying that to you make a difference?"

Mom didn't answer my question, just shook her head and shrugged. Well, none of the rest of it made sense, either, why should this? If it helped, cool! If not, well, I got to tell my Mom how I really felt. There wasn't a downside. Well, I mean, relatively speaking.

Then Mom said, "Miles, because of what Daddy did, I need to have someone I can rely on to guide me, help me make the right choices and tell me when I'm not. I think Daddy messed with my sense of judgement, and that's part of why I keep doing things I shouldn't do, like your father's breakfast yesterday. I should know better, but in the moment, I don't. I can't ask your father, because, well, those feelings. Can you help me with that? You've been doing an excellent job so far!"

Ah, the arrogance of youth. It seemed simple enough. Watch Mom and tell her when she's acting 'off', and remind her of how she should act. "Sure, Mom! Anything you need!"

Mom shivered, but smiled at me. "Thank you, son. I love you."

"Love you, too, Mom!"

* * *

When Dad returned to the room, it was to a full embrace with my mother, and a kiss as fully loving and passionate as she had ever given, and the stunned and delighted look on my father's face was so very good to see. Mom winked at me over his shoulder as she hugged him, and smiled at me. It had worked! I nodded and grinned. A moment later, Dr. Thompson entered the room, and seemed surprised at the change.

"Well, Melina, they're ready for you in the imaging center," Dr. Thompson told her, and Mom nodded, and broke off her embrace with Dad, and it looked less-than-willingly. It was as if her hands didn't want to be away from her husband, which was actually a return to something much more normal for them. An orderly came in with a wheelchair for Mom, and she got in it, smiled at her husband, and gestured to proceed. Dr. Thompson cocked an eyebrow at the whole interaction, then followed after Mom.

"Did you see, Miles?!" Dad asked, almost giddy with relief and excitement.

"I did, Dad. Looks like whatever Grandad used on her is wearing off, maybe? I hope so!"

"You and me both, son " Dad said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. "But thank God for the hope!"

I sat on the solid built-in shelf in front of the window, and Dad took the chair. We looked at each other, excited that perhaps things were actually improving, getting back to normal!

"We can't just..." Dad started, the regrouped and started again, "...just because your mother had a few normal moments, we have to accept that it may change, again. But at least we know she's still in there, and she loves us both!"

He looked at me more soberly. "Miles, I want you to know how proud I am of the care you've taken with your mother. You seem to be able to reach her in a way no one else can. I wish I could," Dad said, looking at his hands.

"Hey, Dad, I know this is hard, but Mom will get better. She's got to!" I said, trying to be encouraging. I mean, really, I had no idea, just hopes and prayers that Mom would get back to normal, I mean, her feelings for Dad. I wanted her to really feel her love for him, not to just fake it because I told her to. Which was weird in itself -- why would me telling her to show Dad the love she had for him before make a difference? Maybe Dr. Thompson would know, or at least have an idea.

He sighed, gave me a fleeting smile, and nodded. "You're right, Miles. I just worry."

"I know. Me, too, but she will be okay in the end," I said.

We watched TV while we waited, and endless progression from a morning news show to game shows, and, finally, a half-hour of a really bad soap opera, uh, excuse me, 'daily drama.' The occasional nurse stuck her head in to see if Mom had returned. She hadn't, of course. As Mom's lunch tray was delivered, they brought her back to the room.

I was so happy to see her face light up like it used to when she looked at Dad! She stood up out of the wheelchair and hugged him lovingly, but, of course, appropriately. I breathed in relief, then noticed how Dr. Thompson was observing them without saying anything until their hug ended and Mom stepped back but still held Dad's hand. I beamed at them like an idiot, I'm sure.

Dad guided Mom back to the bed, she got into it and pulled up the sheet. Dr. Thompson cleared his throat, and we all looked at him. "Given recent events, I wanted to be there when the tests were run to see if there have been neurological changes."

He took a breath, and continued, "I am sorry to have to tell you that there have been, or, at least, you have some very unusual and interesting results. You now have nerves connected in ways, and between structures in the brain, that I've never seen, even in the literature. We can't know whether they were there before because you've never had these tests run on you before. Your limbic system and frontal cortex appear to have been heavily affected, and the patterns on the EEG are significantly... ah, different from normal."

Dad hugged Mom at the news, and she buried her head in his shoulder.

"This situation didn't happen overnight. Nerves don't grow like that overnight, well, they don't normally grow like that at all!" Dr. Thompson finished.

"You're saying that my wife has nerves and connections in her head that no one else has? And it's because of what her father did?" asked Dad.

Dr. Thompson sighed. "In the interest of accuracy, I'm not quite saying that. Your wife has some neural structures that appear to be recent changes. I do not think that we can discount that what her father did might be the cause; it is certainly a factor. The results of the drug screen came back negative, and the analysis of the substance he was injecting her with came back with nonsensical results. It is likely that it had to be kept refrigerated until used, and had a very limited active life, because what was left in the IV bag had apparently broken down into what is essentially chemical garbage."

"Did they check the fridge?" I started.

"The police did not find any further supply of the drugs anywhere in the house," Dr. Thompson said. "At least, that is what they told me. So, we can't know what the drugs continuing effects might be."

"But Melli is acting just like she always has!" Dad protested.

"And that is a hopeful development, I happily grant you! But we don't know whether that will continue, or what other issues may emerge, or simply haven't been observed yet. You can't add so many connections between such important brain structures without some differences. You can't change neural firing patterns inside the brain without changing how it functions."

"You said... can you say what areas of her brain are affected?" Dad asked.

"Two areas are the most obviously affected -- parts which govern Melina's emotions as well as her ability to plan or make judgements. There are many, many other connections which are irregular, and probably new, as well."

"Those are the two big problem areas Mom has talked about!" I exclaimed.

"Yes," Dr. Thompson said, simply.

"Oh."

I pondered the situation. Look, these things aren't just 1+2=3, they have an emotional wallop that can restore your, or at least my, humility. It's amazing how we expect people to stay the same, especially those closest to us.

There were parts of me that were becoming very frightened of where the doctor was leading us -- exactly how my mother had been wounded so very deeply by my grandfather's insanity. It was sounding pretty permanent, too, and I suspected was something I would have to wind up accepting. I was afraid of that, of having to accept that only so much could be done to help my mother recover. The fear of what further damage might be revealed as time moved on was very heavy, too, but that had been a constant companion since I'd found her in Grandad's house.

I desperately wanted to make it not be so, that everything would wear off and Mom would be just fine. I'm sure that Dad must have been desperate for that, as well. I wanted my Mom back, just like she was, like she had always been, and again, Dad had to feel exactly the same. What I really wanted, of course, was for none of this to have happened at all. A complete reset, but with Grandad not willing to do that to his daughter.

Well, that wasn't in the cards, but whatever I could do to help Mom get back to normal, I'd do. I was willing to support her however I could. I had to, not just because I love her, but also, just maybe, because I felt guilty for not going to check on Mom sooner. I was terribly afraid that my assumption that everything would be all right and to just relax and wait for the test results had led to more and worse damage being done to Mom. It was something I was unable to allow into the front and center in my thoughts, but it still haunted me from the edges of my awareness.

Dr. Thompson watched us as we digested what he'd said. When we appeared to have come to a place where we could go on, he continued. "I have had my nurse set up appointments in my office for each of you, as well as one for the entire family at once, to make sure we're all on the same page each week. Melina, I'd like you to come in once a day for the first two weeks, and we'll make them less frequently as time passes and the situation stabilizes. Does thus sound amenable?"

The three of us looked at each other and then nodded our agreement, and Dr. Thompson said that after the afternoon's tests on Mom we could take her home, he would discharge her, but we were to keep a very close eye on her and move to intercept anyone who wanted to talk with Mom, allowing Mom privacy and the time to discover any new issues before giving the town even more to gossip about.

Dr. Thompson, it seemed, was turning out to be a fairly cool guy who took his patient care extremely seriously. He suggested Mom rest up a few days before dealing with anyone outside the family, and Dad and I could answer the door and explain to her visitors that Mom was still recovering.

There would be visitors who would come to call, he told us, often mostly motivated by curiosity. They should be told that Melina was recovering from a terrible incident, and needs quiet. We should tell them that Mom would see them or talk to them as soon as she was able.

Patience and care with Mom were necessary right now, he said. We could talk over any problems or questions at our appointments, unless we needed him for an emergency. He gave Mom and Dad his private cell phone number, though, 'just in case' he said.

"What about me?" I asked. "I go back to school in a week. It's only fifty miles away, but when class is in session, I can usually only make it home on the weekends."

"That's actually good," Dr. Thompson said. "Most of the work will have to be done by your mother, of course, but I can make your family's group appointments on Saturdays, if that will help. It will actually be good for my schedule, as well. Your job is to protect her and to help her as she relearns to be herself. Your father has the same job, as well as some additional responsibilities."

"Oh, that's good! Weekend appointments are the best for me, given travel time."

"Where do you stay at school? In the dorm?" Dr. Thompson asked.

"Yeah," I said.

"Okay," he said. "Does that work for you, Andy? Maybe with our appointments on Friday afternoons?"

Dad nodded in agreement.

Melina, we're going to start intensively with daily appointments, but we'll slow down as you adjust and we learn what has changed. Does that sound okay?"

Mom said it did, and Dr. Thompson seemed satisfied. "This afternoon's tests may seem odd, but that's so it is harder to skew the results consciously. We'll go over your results afterwards, okay?"

Mom agreed again. Dad suggested I go home and get a shower and some sleep while Mom was tested, and Dr. Henderson agreed, saying that we couldn't go with Mom and so we'd just be waiting, so now would be a good time for both of us to get out and take care of anything hanging fire.

We both drove home, me in my car and he in his. We both dragged into the kitchen, and Dad whipped up a couple of sandwiches for us.

We ate without speaking much, until Dad finally said, "Well...." but then left it sort of dangling.

"Yeah," I said, understanding. "So, do you think I should put off going back to school? I could maybe drop this semester, and go back next fall, help out here, keep an eye on Mom...."

"I think you should get back to school, son. You'll be home on the weekends, and your Mom and I will have to find our way through this together."

"Are you sure, Dad? What if Mom needs someone to watch her? It's a lot cheaper to not start than to have to bail in the middle. Given the situation, the administration will understand...."

"I'm sure, Miles."

"Okay, good, then. I just wanted to offer. If it gets too difficult, I'm a phone call and an hour away." I just accepted his decision, and didn't pursue questioning the reasoning. Hey, I was eighteen, and most of my life I'd had to just accept parental decisions! But I was less than easy with Mom, whose brain had been muddled with, coming home without someone to watch her. I just assumed Dad had it covered.

Dad smiled. "I'll remember, I promise! Now, go get a shower and a nap. I will do the same. We'll get dinner on the way back to the hospital, okay?"

"Sounds good." I polished off the last of my sandwich and put the dishes in the dishwasher. Dad and I then each stumbled to our respective showers and beds.

The phone rang in the middle of the afternoon, waking us. Dad answered and had a quiet conversation, then yelled up to me that he was going out for a while, but would be back and we'd get dinner and go see Mom.

When Dad got home, he was lost in thought and worry for a while, but then called to me and asked if I was ready to go. I was famished, and had been ready for an hour or so. He smiled a sad, strained smile at me, and said, "Let's go."

We stopped at a cafeteria, and went through the line selecting our food. When we got to the table and got seated, I looked at Dad. "Okay what is it?"

He sighed. "It's... what your mother's father did to her," he said. "Your mother is going to be in therapy for a very long time, possibly for the rest of her life. Dr. Thompson thinks we might be able to develop work-arounds, but there has been such serious damage done."

"What kind of work-arounds?" I asked.

"He says that your talking to Mom about how to behave and how not to behave has helped her somehow. Because she trusts you, she was able to change her behavior." He looked down, and I suspected he was feeling bad because he wasn't able to help her like that.

"Have you tried?" I asked.

"Yes, Miles. Dr. Thompson and your Mom think it was something your grandfather did, probably to tear apart our marriage, leaving her even more vulnerable to him."

I cursed my grandfather yet again for what he did, the evil, sick bastard.

"You shouldn't say such things around your mother, Miles. She feels compelled to practically worship him, though she says she doesn't want to feel that way. But she doesn't react well to criticism of her father."

"What?"

"She almost assaulted me when I said much the same thing you just did. She had a great deal of difficulty stopping herself. Dr. Thompson almost had to restrain her."

"Oh, Dad...!" I said, feeling horrible for him. "But thanks for telling me! I'll try to avoid doing that where she can hear me. If I run into unexpected situations like that I'll tell you and the doctor as quickly as I can!"

"The doctor seems to think they there will be a number of them, especially in the next few weeks," Dad said, shoulders slumped.

I offered again. "Dad, are you sure you don't want me to stay and help?"

"Quite sure, Miles, thank you. Apparently when we bring your mother home I need to be the only one home with her, for a while. I'm supposed to let her re-acclimatize at her own speed."

"Oh!" I said. That explained it, I guess.

I cut the front wedge of a slice of pecan pie, one of the specialties of the house, and one that had some serious fans out there. I knew because I'm one of them! I savored the sweet flavor as I chewed.

Dad grinned at my expression; he knew of my love for their pie. It had once been a shared favorite, but Dad had had to give it up as his system flirted with adult-onset diabetes. He had to control it with diet, but it seemed to work for him.

We chatted about my school plans, and revisited the whole dating conversation I'd had with Mom. We avoided talking about Mom's situation, knowing we would be getting more and different information when we saw Mom again.

Dad glanced at his watch, and then at me. "Time to go."

We paid at the cashier and headed to the hospital. When we got to Mom's room, she wasn't there yet, but Dr. Thompson was waiting for us. Dad and I sat on the built-in couch and looked at him expectantly.

The doctor cleared his throat, and started. "We have completed our first set of evaluations. We'll need to have Melina back in a month to perform them again to monitor for any further changes. I wish we had a scan from before all this so we could have a baseline, but we don't."

Dr. Thompson looked me in the eye. "Miles, it appears that you have a certain amount of control over your mother's behavior. It would have been your grandfather who had that control, but now that he is dead, it seems that the key to that conditioning has alighted on you. What you tell her to do, she will feel she needs to do. This means you have to be very careful and very responsible in what you tell her. Your telling her to act like her old self has allowed her to behave like her old loving self with your father. You restored an ability that had been taken away. Do you understand?"

"Holy..." I gasped. Then I looked back at the doctor with understanding. "How can I help her get back to normal? What can I say?"

"You've made a good start," Dr. Thompson said. "We're going to have to find all the places in her mind that have been changed, and you will have to tell her how to feel and act. I had hopes that you could come to my office about once a week?"

I considered. "I have some openings in my schedule where I could get here and back, as long as the appointments are under an hour and a half."

"We will prioritize your appointments with your mother, as well as your father's. My office can adapt to your needs."