Fix Me

Her mouth dropped open before she snapped it shut. Anger didn’t work so she turned on the tears. She sat back down on the couch and sobbed. “I’m all alone. My children have left me. My husband left me, all because I’m not as healthy as I once was.”

“None of us left because you were sick,” I said, trying to be gentle. “We left because you drove us away.”

She sobbed again. “That isn’t true. I loved all of you. Your father—”

I stopped her. “He left because you refused to take care of yourself. You made yourself sick. We all saw it. I was the only one dumb enough to stick around for so long and feed into your sickness. You have some mental health issues that need to be addressed, Mother.”

“You are a horrible person,” she wailed, wiping her tears. “How dare you kick a woman when she is down. I taught you better than that.”

“No. You taught me how to take care of you. You taught me that you were a fragile person that could not handle being told no. That you were someone who needed to be showered with attention all the time and when you didn’t get your way, you threw a fit. You have kept me as your emotional hostage for long enough. I can’t do it anymore. I want to be a part of your life, but I cannot keep doing this with you. I cannot be the guy who feeds your illness.”

“I don’t have an illness!” she screamed.

I didn’t shout back. It never did any good. “You’re right. You don’t have a physical illness. Your kidneys are fine when you eat right. You have your health, but you make yourself sick. I don’t know why. That is something you have to get into with a psychiatrist. I can’t help you. I cannot fix you.”

She wept. I waited. I had seen the exact same weeping fit a hundred times. Usually it was because I wouldn’t let her have a particular food because she was recovering from one illness or another. She would use the same tactic when I would tell her I was going out with friends for a night and she wanted me home with her.

I was immune to her tactics. She had made me feel numb. I hated being so cold, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. She had used me for so long and now that I saw it for what it was, I didn’t think I could ever go back.

She looked up at me with pale blue eyes, the whites bloodshot from her crying jag. “I just don’t understand what changed.”

“I changed,” I answered honestly. “I changed. I woke up one day and realized we were not good for each other. Maybe I liked taking care of you. Maybe I needed to feel needed. Truthfully, you conditioned me from a very young age to feel like the only time I was needed or loved was if I was taking care of you. It isn’t healthy. I see it now and for both our sakes, I had to leave. I hope one day we can have a relationship, but that isn’t today. You need to figure out what really matters to you.”

“What does that even mean?” she asked.

“It means you have to decide if you want to try and get healthy and we can one day have a relationship. It means if you choose to keep making yourself sick and try to make me feel guilty for not rushing to your side every time you sneeze, then we will not have a relationship. I love you mom, but I cannot be around you.”

She pursed her lips, glaring at me. “Your sister put you up to this.”

“No, she didn’t, though I wish I would have done this ten years ago. I wasted too many years already. This was my decision.”

“I just can’t believe you’re abandoning me for good.”

“I’m not abandoning you. It’s time you stood on your own two feet and allow me the chance to do the same.”

She was quiet for several seconds. “I suppose this means you don’t want me here?”

The old Luke would have assured her I wanted her to stay. I would have coddled her and made her feel better, sacrificing my own happiness. “I think it’s best you go home, call a therapist and start working on yourself.”

“Do you hate me?” she whispered.

“No. I don’t hate you. I just need some time to get myself together. I need time to figure out who I am when I am not the guy taking care of his mother. I want to find out if nursing is really what I want to do or if I did it because you told me I would be a good nurse. You wanted me to be a nurse so I could spend the rest of my days caring for you.”

“I said you would be a good nurse because you are!” she protested.

I shrugged. “I am, but now it’s time for me to figure out if that’s the path I want to stay on.”

Chapter Nineteen

Bree

I FELT LIKE I HAD BEEN hit by a truck. I was sure I slept exactly five minutes last night and not all at once time. I had always battled insomnia. The therapist I had talked with after my mot

her died said it was the trauma. She said it would get better one day. It had. She had been right, but now it was back. I didn’t want to blame Charlene, but damn she had given me a lot to think about.

She made me reexamine my life and I wasn’t entirely sure I liked who I was before the accident. She had referred to me as pampered. She insisted it wasn’t meant to be rude, but it had been an insult. I got the feeling she didn’t like me. I wasn’t going to tell Luke how I felt about his mother. That was not the way to win a man over. I would not insult her, and I would not say anything bad about her, but I was hoping I didn’t have to spend the day with her again.

I would tell Luke to take the day off. I would tell him I was taking a spa day or hanging out with Mel. Anything to avoid a repeat of yesterday. I didn’t have the strength to deal with the backhanded compliments.