22. Sydney
“You’ll want this pair of rubber sandals for the dorm showers. Promise me you won’t set foot in those things unless you have some sort of sandals on, okay?” Mom places them inside the duffel bag that’s next to her on the edge of my bed.
“Okay.” I offer her a smile, but I know it doesn’t come close to reaching my eyes. Tears prickle at my eyes like they do so easily these days with the heavy mix of emotions I feel sitting right at the surface. I’m desperately aching for the moment I’m able to flee the pressure and grief of the reality here and find some space to breathe at college. I need to get away before it crushes me whole.
At the same time, I’m also hyperfocused on the fact that I should be soaking up every lucid moment I can with Mom—while I still can. What kind of daughter does this make me if my strongest urge is to run?
“Let’s fit your makeup mirror and toiletries in this bag, shall we?” She points to the empty bag next to me on the floor.
“Okay.” I pass the bag to her and continue folding my clothes into piles just like she taught me to do. A staggering ache pierces my heart when I’m reminded that this could very well be the last big milestone that she’ll be lucid enough to help me prepare for. What will I do without her when I’m planning a wedding? Or when I have my future babies?
The thought is too much. I may desperately want to flee, but how am I actually supposed to leave her? What college student leaves for school without knowing if their mom will be here when they get back?
Maybe I should stay.
I sniffle and blink rapidly to clear my tears enough to see clearly.
“Hey,” Mom says gently, reaching down to place her hand on my forearm. “Let’s take a break.”
“Okay.” I nod, not needing much convincing. Pushing off the ground, I slump onto the bed next to her. She runs a hand over my hair while I puff my cheeks out with my exhale.
“I have something for you,” she says with a small smile, reaching behind her back.
“You do?” I ask, running my fingers under my eyes, even though I know it’s futile. More tears will surely come.
“It’s a little going-away-to-college gift.” She hands me a small black box with a teal ribbon tied across the top.
I swallow, nervously pulling it open, not sure how much more my emotions can handle today.
Inside the box is a silver chain with a snowflake pendant at the base. The light catches it just so as I hold it up, making the tips of it sparkle as it spins slowly in the air.
“It’s so pretty,” I breathe, tears welling yet again. I look over to find Mom watching me, her own eyes red at the rims—eyes that are the same shade as mine.
“Thank you,” I whisper, my voice coming out wobbly.
“Here, let me,” she says softly, clasping the necklace around my neck.
It’s too much. All of this…it’s too much.
She tips my quivering chin up with her knuckle until I’m looking into her eyes.
“I know this has been hard for you,” she whispers, her own voice cracking.
I simply nod, pushing my lips together, not able to say the words out loud.
“It’s been hard for me too. I need to say a few things to you while things are…clear at the moment. Would that be alright with you?” she asks quietly.
All I can do is nod slowly, bracing myself for what she’s about to say.
“I want you to know…it’s okay to give yourself permission to leave for college,” she says quietly but intently. Her words validate my inner struggle, which she’s always been so good at seeing. They both heal and break my heart all at the same time.
“But how can I leave you?” I croak out, my lips quivering with ferocity now.
“Oh, sweetheart.” She offers a sad smile, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s okay, I promise. There’s nothing I want more for you than for you to be happy and to live a full life. I wouldn’t want you to miss out on college.”
I hiccup on a sob while she continues through her own emotions.
“I want you to live a big, beautiful, fulfilling life without holding back or worrying about me, okay? I’ll be alright. I want you to experience life. To find what you’re passionate about and chase your dreams. To get your heart broken—maybe a few times. And then find a true love, letting that love put the pieces of your heart back together. I want you to have babies and bring them here to show them this piece of yourself and our history. You can’t do all that if you stay here and watch me slowly fade. I know you. You are meant for more than this small town. Experience it all for me, please?”
I choke on another sob as my tears fall freely.
“And I hope like hell I get to be here for all of it. Truly, I do. But if I’m not…I want you to do it anyway. Can you promise me that?”
“Okay,” I choke out, nodding, even though it breaks my heart to say it.
She shifts in place, wiping at a tear. “No matter where I am—physically or cognitively—I’ll always be right here.”
She taps a finger against my heart, right next to where the snowflake hangs.
“I promise you that. I will never ever leave you.” There’s a firmness in her voice now, along with a desperate plea to know that I hear her.
“I know.” I nod my head, letting her words truly sink in. Her promise feels like a balm that warms the sharp cracks of my broken heart.
I also see them for exactly what they are. A promise to be a part of me forever, even when she’s not physically here. And a promise I’m making in return to live a full life in spite of all that.
She pulls me in for a hug, and I latch onto her with all my might. As I cling to her, we both let the tears fall unabashedly and the grief be felt in its full magnitude. The depth of the pain feels like it’s ripping apart the innermost part of me as I allow myself to feel it all.
We sit like that for a long time, neither one of us wanting to let go first. As I hang onto her, I’m fully aware that I should appreciate this rare moment of lucid realness with her. Appreciate the opportunity to have this conversation at all.
At the same time, I hate how absolutely unfair all of it is that we have to be going through this in the first place.