3 | Samaj #3
A deep sense of guilt came over me. I haven’t sympathized with my parents and their ways of coping with my brother’s death. All this time I chose to distance myself and put all of my focus on finishing school, applying for jobs and preparing to move.
“To your knowledge, has she ever done anything like this before?” Dr. Lang asked my dad.
“Can we step outside?” my dad asked. I looked up at him, but he avoided eye contact with me.
“Sure.”
They both stepped outside of the room, and as much as I wanted to hear the conversation, I didn’t want to get into it with my dad, especially not here.
I turned my attention back to my mom. It looked like life hadn’t been kind to her.
She had lost some noticeable weight in the past two months, and the glow of her skin had become dull.
It was now almost midnight, but I promised Simone I would let her know when we arrived, so I sent her a text.
Me: Made it to the hospital.
I didn’t expect her to respond right away, but she did, almost as if she were holding the phone in her hand waiting for me to reach out.
Simone: Glad you made it safe. Is your mom OK?
Me: Yea.
Simone: If you need me, I’m here.
Me: Appreciate it.
My dad stepped back into the room with a blank expression on his face. He went to my mother’s bedside and grabbed her hand, rubbing it for a while before kissing her on the forehead.
“Let’s go. We’ll come back later during visiting hours.”
We left and took the fifteen-minute drive home. I hadn’t been back here since the day of Shiloh’s funeral. Walking in felt cold and unwelcoming. I went to grab a bottle of water and stopped when a picture on the fridge of my brother and I caught my attention.
It was the first day of school. I was in my senior year of high school, and he was in his last year of middle school.
My mom had forced us to take a picture before leaving the house like she did every year.
I stood there frozen in sadness. I had lost my brother, and I could have just lost my mom as well.
In a way I felt like I had already lost her and my dad.
Things had been so off for the past few months.
Grieving someone who is deceased is one thing but grieving people who are still walking the earth with you is another level of cruelty.
“How did things get this bad?” I snapped, my voice cracking under the weight of it all. “She could’ve died!” I didn’t mean to yell, but I was fed up.
“Aye, you listen to me and listen to me very clearly. I know you’re upset but don’t ever raise your voice at me like that.”
“Dad I’m just trying to understand how mom almost took her own life, and you didn’t think I deserved to know how bad things really were. Maybe she needs to be in some kind of program. Rehab. Something.”
He exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face like he was trying to hold himself together.
“Maj, you have no idea what your mom and I have been through. You don’t know how many times I’ve tried to help her, protect her. Tried to save her—” his voice broke just for a second. “Even from herself.”
“So, what are you not telling me? How long have things been this bad?”
He shook his head “It’s late. You should get some sleep.”
He walked away from me and stepped out onto the back patio.
The expansive terrace housed a dining table on one end, a fire pit in the middle surrounded by seating, and four lounge chairs on the other side.
The area that held countless family dinners, game nights, BBQs, and weekends dedicated to unwinding and relaxation.
Him walking away meant the conversation was over, even if I wasn’t done talking.
How can so much change in such a short amount of time?
My dad was the kind of man who loves with his whole heart, even if he didn’t always know how to show it softly.
The type who believes if he can keep a tight grip on things, he can keep the people he loves safe.
Control, to him, isn’t about power; it’s about protection.
If there’s a problem, he wants to fix it, immediately, completely, with no loose ends.
He’s rough around the edges and doesn’t sugarcoat anything.
If you’re not able to handle truth laced in bluntness, then don’t ask for his advice.
But if you can handle his delivery, his advice is solid.
The kind that sticks with you long after the conversation is over.
The kind that makes you check yourself and try to become a better person.
He doesn’t laugh much, not the easy, carefree kind at least. But when he does laugh, it’s one of those laughs that comes from somewhere deep in his belly, low rumbling, like it had to push its way past years of responsibility to get out.
It’s the kind of laugh that surprises you, makes your cheeks hurt from smiling too hard because you weren’t expecting it.
Being older now, and a man myself, I’m starting to realize something—he may not always say the right thing, or say it the right way, but everything he does comes from a place of love.
Fierce, unwavering, sometimes overwhelming love. He’s a man who carries the weight of his family like it’s his personal assignment from God. Maybe our family falling apart feels like a failure.
I peered through the sliding doors watching him lean against the railing, his back to me, shoulders slumped like the weight of the world had finally won.
I left him alone, grabbed my backpack, and headed to my room.
I pulled out my phone and started researching suicide, addiction, and depression.
I went down a rabbit hole for hours until sleep overtook me.
The next morning, light tapping on the door woke me up.
“Hey, be ready in twenty minutes so we can head out.”
I was never a deep sleeper, and I consider myself a morning person but getting only three hours of sleep wasn’t cutting it. I took the quickest shower I could before getting dressed and meeting my dad in the kitchen, where he was drinking coffee.
“I made some breakfast sandwiches.”
“I’m not hungry.” I said sharply, although I could’ve easily scarfed down two of them with how starved I was. There needs to be a study on why many parents would rather offer their kids food as a peace offering, instead of addressing the issue head on and talking through it.
We got back to the hospital, and as upset as I was before my mood shifted slightly when I saw my mom sitting up in bed changing the channel on the TV.
“Hey, Mom.” She smiled and opened her arms for a hug.
“Hey Maj.”
Man, I needed that hug. There’s just something about a mother’s warm embrace that makes you suddenly feel like you can breathe easier. I almost forgot what it felt like. She barely looked at my dad, but when he slid her one of the breakfast sandwiches he made, she gladly took it and began eating.
“So are you going to explain what happened, or are we going to pretend like everything is okay.” He said, standing at the foot of the bed with his arms folded.
“Everything is OK. I’m OK. You didn’t have to come.”
“I’m your husband. Why wouldn’t I come? Just because you don’t care about your vows and commitment doesn’t mean I don’t”
I interjected. “Y’all really about to do this right now?”
“Sorry, you’re right,” my dad replied before walking away to stare out of the window.
My Mom turned her attention to me. “How’s school baby? You’re ready to graduate soon, right?”
“Yeah, mom, I'm set to graduate in December. You’re coming to my graduation, right?”