3 | Samaj #4
“Of course! I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” I nodded my head, but this was crazy, and I was having a hard time wrapping my mind around it.
How could she say that with such certainty when less than twenty-four hours ago she’d been ready to give up on tomorrow altogether? Before I could get too deep in my thoughts the doctor came in.
“Glad you’re here. I wanted to give you an update. Would you like to step out so we can talk?”
“No, you can speak here,” my mom interjected.
Dr. Chen nodded his head. “Based on what you told us, Mr. Stephens, this being a repeated situation, we’ve decided it would be best to keep Mrs. Stephens for psychiatric evaluation for a minimum of 72 hours.
Depending on how things go, we’ll determine if it will be best to discharge her or extend the stay. ”
This was the first time I’d heard that my mom had tried to commit suicide before.
My leg bounced uncontrollably, and my chest felt hollow.
Confusion tangled with heartbreak. I looked to my father for comfort and reassurance, but he avoided eye contact, possibly unsure how to face me now that a secret he’d kept for years had been exposed without his permission.
She’d tried to kill herself more than once.
The thought alone twisted my stomach. How could the woman who had raised me and my brother have been drowning right in front of me without me ever noticing?
“Thanks, Doc.”
“No, problem. The nurse will be in shortly. Mrs. Stephens, feel better and take care of yourself. “Happy Thanksgiving,” he added before leaving. “I’m sure you all have a lot to be thankful for.”
“Of course you would have them keep me here. I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home,” she snapped with an attitude.
“Sam, you put yourself here.” I saw the exhaustion on his face, the fear he was trying to hide behind that stoic expression he’s mastered over the years.
“You don’t understand!” she clipped. She seemed agitated, tugging at the sleeves of her hospital gown. The IV pole rattled every time she shifted. My dad shook his head. He was calm on the outside, sure—but I knew better. He was having a full-blown war on the inside.
“I don’t understand. I’ve tried, but you won’t let me into that head of yours.”
“You don’t want to understand a damn thing! You just want to control me. Always trying to fix me, but I don’t need you to fix me.”
Each sentence landed harder than the last, cruel in a way that felt deliberate, like she knew where his soft spots were and aimed for every one of them.
I could see it in his eyes. Every word hit, even if he refused to show it. It was wrong. It wasn’t fair. And this definitely wasn’t the time or place to be going at it like this.
I tried to step in, not even sure how to mediate the situation.
“Mom, maybe you should get some rest.”
My chest burned with heartbreak and confusion as I looked at the woman who raised me.
The one who used to be so full of life, warm and loving.
She wasn’t perfect by any means, but for the most part she was present and supportive.
She was at every school event, front and center, clapping the loudest and cheering the hardest.
Sure, she had her moments. Days when she needed space, when she would retreat to the bedroom and keep the door closed for days at a time. My dad would tell us it was her time of the month and that she needed a little space and quiet. Eventually, it became the norm for us.
But what I was seeing now was different.
I’d been out of the house for the last four years, visiting for birthdays, holidays, and the occasional weekend when I wanted to chill with Shiloh.
From the outside, everything between my parents seemed normal.
Maybe I missed the signs. Something had been going on behind the scenes and was finally coming to the forefront.
My dad didn’t raise his voice or match her energy. He just took a slow breath, nodded once, and said quietly, “Ok Sam. I’m not going to argue with you.” Then he stepped out of the room. As soon as the door closed, a tear ran down her cheek. She tried to wipe it away, but I’d already seen it.
“Mom, you, okay?” I asked cautiously. I stood up and made my way closer to her bed.
“Yes, I’m okay, baby. I’m going to take a nap.” She said, turning her back to me and curling beneath the blankets.
It wasn’t an ideal Thanksgiving, but I spent it with my family. I spent the day watching my mom sleep, eat, take medication, attend therapy sessions, come back and sleep some more.
Watching my dad love my mom through all of this changed something in me. His patience with her was admirable. My dad would only step out to get coffee or to pray in the hospital chapel. Otherwise, he never left her side.
This was the side of love no one talked about, the ugly side that tested your commitment.
When love wasn’t about romance anymore, but endurance.
He didn’t complain. He didn’t fuss or fight.
Even while standing helpless in the middle of a situation, he couldn’t fix or control, he chose to stay. Chose her anyway.