My mother used to cry herself to sleep on our old couch every night. I heard it from my bedroom upstairs and it always made me sad. I didn’t understand her worry about bills, food, water, and keeping me safe. After all, I was just a kid.
Yes, our house was a poorly constructed rowhome that, just last week, had the roof of my bedroom fall in from a rainstorm. Yes, we barely had enough food for the two of us each day and would sometimes survive off lentil soup. Yes, there were countless debt collectors calling her day and night while my mother refused each call. But we had each other and I was happy. Why wasn’t she?
I loved that I slept in her bed because of the roof, lentil soup, and her ringtone. I never had a problem with any of it.
Except for her crying.
So I wanted to help. At 7, I had enough of her being sad and I wanted to see her smile for a change. I would be the adult today and make breakfast.
I woke up super early and crept downstairs, being sure to keep quiet as mom slept soundly on the couch. In the kitchen, I made what I knew: eggs, orange juice, and oatmeal. We had just enough left for us with only enough juice for mommy. This food made me smile, so I was sure she would too.
Proud of myself for watching her cook these for me on special occasions, I sprinkled more happy seasoning onto the oatmeal and put it on a plate with cold orange juice in a glass at the table. The eggs, though a little burnt, were scrambled in a pile beside it - the only way I knew. I made the same for me right next to her. She was going to love it!
When I woke her to the surprise she was happy. She smiled, really smiled, and sat to eat. She thanked me repeatedly and told me how I was being such a good girl and that she really needed this.
We ate breakfast happily, finishing each and every bite. When mother finished and we put our dishes in the sink, she noticed her empty pill bottle labeled “tricyclic antidepressant” lying on the counter.
“What is this? What happened to mommy’s pills?”
“Oh, don’t worry, mommy,” I grinned. “I know you take those to make you happy and I wanted you to be EXTRA happy today. So I mixed the rest with your breakfast.”
“T-the rest?” She stammered and her eyes widened. “Baby, there were thirty pills left”
“And now you’ll be thirty times happier!” I gleamed and went in for a hug. She pushed me away, though, and her knees shook.
My mother wavered at the counter for a moment before falling to a lump on the ground. Her eyes were closed, and her chest unmoving, but her lips formed a small smile.
“Are you happy now, mommy?”