For years, life separated me from my mother. Long hours, countless meetings, and a never-sleeping metropolis were typical of Wall Street jobs. Calls became messages, then rare texts, and then none. I meant to call her next week, then next month, but years passed.
Sometimes I need outdated documents for legal reasons. That brought back memories of my mom’s house. It should be secure in the old drawer she stored critical papers in. I felt guilty and excited about visiting her after all this time. Perhaps she’d like seeing me. She could chastise me before hugging me. We could sit at the kitchen table and drink her oversweetened coffee while she gossiped about the neighbors.
I booked a trip home without informing her, hoping it would help. As I drove through my childhood streets after landing, I felt a tug in my chest. Returning after so long seemed weird. The sidewalk trees and roadways were smaller. But nothing prepared me for what I saw around the last bend.
Her house—ours—was gone.
Not only broken, abandoned. Gone. Ruins, bent timber, and shattered bricks lay everywhere. My heart hammered. Must be wrong. Parking the car with quivering hands, I stepped out with wobbly legs. My mother’s warm, inviting house, where I grew up, was a catastrophe.
I panicked as I pulled my phone from my pocket and called her. It rang. And rang. And rang. No reply. Retrying, each unanswered call tightened my chest till I could not breathe.
“Mom?” I muttered, thinking she heard me. I kneeled, holding my hair. I disregarded her. I abandoned her. Now she was gone. Imagining her being inside when this happened made my stomach turn. What if she had no supporters? What if—
“Hey! Are you okay? I was pulled from my spiral by a voice. I turned to find an older guy approaching me with worry.
“This house—my mom’s house—it’s gone,” I gasped. “She lived here. Where is she?
In his eyes, recognition flickered. He became more concerned, even scolding. You her son?
I nodded, hardly communicating. “Yes.”
He exhaled forcefully, crossing his arms. “Where the hell have you been?”
He spoke things that affected me harder than expected. I tried to say I was busy and life had taken over, but the reasons seemed hollow even before I spoke them.
“Your mother lost everything,” he said. This area was hit by a hurricane months ago. House was doomed. She couldn’t reach you. Said she tried but failed.”
My stomach sank. She had tried. I was too out of touch to notice.
Now where is she? Asking in a whisper.
He loosened his severe glare. “She’s safe.”
Relief hit me so fast I nearly fainted. “Where?”
Sighing, he rubbed his neck. “With me. I took her. She had nowhere else.”
“You—” I blinked at him. “Who are you?”
He chuckled when he paused. “Her boyfriend.”
I wasn’t anticipating that stomach hit. Mother had a boyfriend? I left long enough for her to develop a life without me. The understanding deepened my humiliation.
He jerked his head toward the street, “Come on.” At my house, she is. Come with me to her.”
My thoughts reeled as I followed. Though brief, the journey to his house felt like an eternity. He opened the front door, and my mother turned from the living room, widening her eyes at me.
She might shout, I thought. Or sob. Ask me to go. Instead, she gazed.
I croaked, “Mom.”
Lip trembled. Instantly, she was in my arms. I hugged her, inhaling her aroma and experiencing her warmth I had been ignorant to previously.
“I thought I lost you,” I mumbled into her hair.
She pulled back, clutching my face with her calloused hands and unshed tears. You almost did.”
Her voice pierced me with sorrow. I neglected her for years when she needed me. I had much to redeem.
“I’m moving back,” I shouted. You may rebuild with me. I’ll—”
Shaking her head, she smiled through tears. “No, baby. I’m not rebuilding.”
I frowned. “You mean what?”
She looked at her partner and took his hand. I’m beginning afresh. With him.”
A moment to process. She then delivered the words that shocked me.
“Getting married.”
My mouth opened. “Married?”
She nods. “I need you there. Walk me down the aisle.”
The earth settled for the first time in years. I returned intending to repair and rebuild. However, my mother had constructed something fresh. No rescue was needed. She needed my presence.
I followed through a few months later. I joined her on her new journey, clinging on like I never left. I wouldn’t this time.
Sometimes we assume we can return later. That time always expands. However, time moves on. With or without us, it advances. My mother nearly died because I assumed she would always be waiting for me. Life goes on. I was glad I could move with it.
Share if this story affected you. Maybe someone else needs the reminder before it’s too late.
