When I was 9, maybe 10, I realized what my mother did for me. She was always there. She was there when I was bullied and she was there through every concussion. She was always there. I remember the realization because one day I came home and the house looked beautiful. My room was done, my bed made, shelves dusted, and floor vacuumed. I realized that it was like this every day. The house was always sparkling, the aroma of hot delicious food filled the air. It was home and it was always perfect. This was the day that I realized what she did for me. If I was mad at her I would still have a hot plate of food at the end of the day; I would never go to bed hungry. She loved me unconditionally and that would never change. 

Now here I was looking at the floor. The pale white floor. I looked up and around, the walls plain, bed bare, IV was moving a clear liquid into my mother's arm. My mouth was parched and cracking, it smelled of alcohol. I felt ill, nauseous. I couldn’t look up for fear that I would see the woman that had raised me to be a responsible teenager now frail and weak. She had been strong for my whole life, never showing weakness at any point. So, I didn’t look up. I looked at the pale white floor. To say I was worried was an understatement, I had been having panic attacks. Cold sweats, heart racing, heavy breathing, and sometimes vomit. I felt like that now, the air cold and heavy. 

She moved my head up to meet her eyes and said, “Mathias I will be okay.” 

I said the only thing that I could say, “I know Momma.”. 

I said it more for me than anything else. I had to believe that because if I didn’t I would lose my mind, I would spiral. She will be okay, Mathias. She has to be.

  My phone rings. I look at it; it’s my mother. Confused, I answer the FaceTime call. She is smiling and in the car. It is a blur. I remember her telling me one thing, “I tested positive.” My mother gets home and I can’t hug her because the virus might spread to me. She was on the way to the airport. She was going to Uganda, and to be able to fly there she had to get tested for COVID-19. She found out that she tested positive right before she boarded the plane. Looking back the ironic thing was that it was a false test. She had no symptoms at the time and didn’t have any symptoms throughout the 2 weeks. Then when she went to the doctor to get cleared, so that she could go to Uganda, she told him about her severe headaches. The doctor decided to take an MRI. The next day we found out that she had 3 tumors in her brain, one in her spleen, and 2 in her lungs. She was full of stage 4 melanoma. Melanoma is a very aggressive type of cancer, so it was attacking her and spreading rapidly. So a couple of months later an ambulance is outside my house. It was a cold day, partly cloudy. My mom was in the hospital in critical condition for 3 or 4 days. She looked rough. Yellow eyes and skin, red and purple rash everywhere, and only half a head of hair. So here we are, me reminiscing over what my life was like before. Before I was staring at this pale white floor. 

Here we are again, standing over her looking at her eyes now. I am meeting her gaze. She looks at me with her yellow sclera, but her iris is still a bright icy blue. Comforting in a way. She still smells the same, a flowery almost vanilla rose scent. She has always smelled the same. Her eyes have always brought me comfort. Now they just remind me of when I was younger. When life wasn’t so complicated when I lived in one house with great parents and had the greatest connection with my brother. Now it was different, we are moving into 2 homes while my mother is ill. Today was one of her better days at least, she got up with me and I walked her to the cafe downstairs. The food was okay. She didn’t eat much and only had a glass of water. That was it. But the outdoors was beautiful, the hospital had a nature garden. With a little waterfall and birds and flowers. The sky was clear. It was a perfect 75o, I was really worried about my mother so being outside with her in this perfect weather was amazing. The warm air clung to my skin. Clean air filled my lungs and with every exhale removed all of the stress and tension, the smell of peonies lifted me. It was amazing. It was more than amazing actually, it was life-changing. This is when I realized that she was going to be ok. 

After I had left the hospital, I drove home with my father. Just listening to the radio and enjoying the music. I then got home and just laid in my soft powder white sheets. Then my mood slipped and I started to over-analyze my life. I couldn’t talk to anyone, they would never understand the weight that I was carrying. So, I stared at the ceiling fan. Just spinning, not a care in the world, it was just there. Providing some wind for me to breathe. I had no drive that day. I couldn’t get up and go outside to work out. I could barely get out of bed to get some water. So I didn’t get out of bed. I just laid there telling my ceiling about my problems. The fan was a great listener. It didn’t tell me how I felt. It didn’t try to explain how sorry it felt for me. It didn’t think of me as a charity case. It was just a fan. There are people in my life that I can remember explaining to me and telling me how I felt, but no one could tell me how I felt. No one asked how I was. No one could tell me what I was supposed to feel. No one could comfort me except her and the doctors because they were the only ones who knew what was happening to my mother.

So here I am now, laying in bed, in the cool cold darkness. Just thinking about what my life is going to be like. Parents divorced, mom with cancer, younger brother struggling with depression, and then there's me. In the middle of it all, wishing for a different life. Wishing I didn’t have to live in this current state of sadness with no motivation. All I can do is wait. All I can do is wait and look at that pale white floor.