Maybe it was Ollie being in the house yesterday or my mother’s drunken stupor, but today routine was changed. Usually I just left the coffee pot going for my mother, but today I gently pushed my mother’s bedroom door open. Her room reeked of stale cigarette smoke and dirty laundry. I saw my mother stretched out across the bed with her head hanging slightly over the edge. I went over to the bedside prepared to adjust her position. When I reached out and touched her I was shocked to feel cold, clammy skin. I couldn’t believe emotionally what I rationally knew had happened. My mother was dead. My first reaction was to grab and shake her, thinking that would bring her around, but her stiff body didn’t respond.
I started to panic and before I knew it I was sitting on the floor hyperventilating. All the things that my mother had done wrong and all the times she failed me as a mother weren’t important to me now. I was in a fog and couldn’t find my way out of it. I don’t know how long I was sitting there before I regained some semblance of calmness. Taking deep breaths, I felt the panic lift and my mind starting working much like solving a word problem in algebra.
To describe my reaction as flat and unemotional wouldn’t be accurate, because I certainly reacted with emotion when I found her dead. The initial panic and tears that came with it were gone. Now I stared at my mother’s body and my mind tried to wrap around the idea that I was truly all alone. If there was any sadness, it was because any hope of having a relationship with my mother was gone. I was indeed an orphan.