Page 98 of Shattered Oaths

I drop my head back with a sigh and whisper, “Fuck my life.” Before handing her my credit card.

She scans the few items on the counter, eyeing me as she places the chocolates, box of tampons, ibuprofen and two bottles of wine into their own bag per my request and I fight back the urge to snap at her for judging me.

I’m a heart broken woman with period cramps,sue me.

She swipes my card and hands it back to me, a sweet yet judgy smile on her face and I snatch it with a little more force than necessary before scooping up my bags and walking out the door.

The drive over to my mom’s house takes ten minutes, and I use every single one of those minutes to silently fume over the audacity of the woman.

I can’t keep doing this.

It isn’t fair that because she’s the woman who birthed me, that I’m automatically expected to clean up her messes.

If she’d stolen just food, I might be able to find it somewhere within me to excuse her behaviour. But she’d stolen vodka, cigarettes and fuckingramen.

I shake my head as I pull up outside her house, my blood boiling with anger.

I grab the bag of groceries she doesn’t deserve and get out of the car, slamming the door shut behind me before stomping up the steps to her house.

I don’t even bother bracing myself for the smell as I push the door open and step inside. “Mom!”

I step into the living room, dodging trash and God knows what else as I scan the room for her, coming up empty.

Moving toward the kitchen, I dump the bag on the counter and look around in disgust. It’s fucking awful in here.

“Mom?” I call again, growing irritated at her ignorance.

I check the downstairs bathroom and the backyard for her before moving up the stairs to her bedroom.

Somehow, it’s worse up here.

There are cigarette burns dotting the carpet. Clothes are slung all over the place and there’s a trail of empty bottles, mouldy cups and cans used as ashtrays leading right to her room.

I knock on the door once and wait, my ear pressed against the wood to listen for any sound. Nothing comes.

With a frustrated sigh, I bring my hand to the doorknob and twist it, only to freeze, an earth-shattering scream echoing in my ears.

There, on the bed, lies my mom, an empty pill bottle beside her, grey eyes wide and lifeless as white foam leaks from the corner of her mouth.

***

Grief is a feeling that every person on earth experiences in their lifetime. It’s predictable yet painful. It’s expected whilst also being unexpected.

“How long has she been taking oxy?”

I always expected this.

It’s why I grieved for her while she was still alive.

“I don’t know.”

I grieved for the woman she once was. For the mother she used to be. For the mother I wish that she had continued to be.

“Do you know where she could have gotten it from?”

“No.”

I grieved for the grandmother my future children would never have. For the mother daughter moments, I’d never get to experience. For the shoulder I’d never get to cry on.