Set Free

Middle.

My mom was diagnosed with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis two and a half years ago.

It initiated when she had a hard time locking a single necklace. It was unobtainable for her to do the job, so she left it in her jewelry box and left.

As she rode to the supermarket, she had a hard time pressing the brakes of the car. She hit someone else's car on the way but managed to get away with it.

As she was in the bedroom section, she had a hard time acquiring the pillow on the top shelf. She asked for help from a staff who rolled his eyes and decided that maybe she should just help herself or not get anything at all.

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She immediately went to the clinic, feeling pain in her legs. She went to the physician who gave her physical tests and asked about her symptoms.

And then, she was diagnosed with it.

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Six months in, she told me through text since I was a thousand miles away. I texted back that I'd be coming home but she told me that she was fine; I could just get her a caretaker.

The dumb child I was, agreed and decided to live my own life away from her.

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A year and a half passed; I constantly asked her if she needed anything. I asked how she and her caretaker were.

She replies "Anna's like you, so good at everything. She even reminds me of you sometimes..."

I respond by asking if she wants me to go home. She refuses the second time, telling me that I should not bother because she's fine.

I place down my phone, hearing a knock on my door.

"Doc, a new patient."

I smile at my assistant and nod. I see a person who looks extremely well, but as I know, I shouldn't judge based on physical attributes.

She sits down on the chair opposite me. She sits composed, her head raised, her hand on her lap, her back straight. I immediately assess her as either confident, narcissistic, or controlled.

Once the door closes, I see her settle into her chair more comfortably. I press the record button on my voice recorder.

"It's nice to meet you.", I start the session.

"Thank you, it's nice to see you too." Her voice trembles a bit. I quickly cross out confident of my options. Narcissistic or controlled.

"I'll take this the cliché way. How have you been?"

I see her sigh, she wants another question but she answers. "Good."

"How good would you say your life has been?"

I see a look of disappointment on her face. I veer towards narcissistic but I place it on hold as I ask another question.

"Any problems?" Her face switches and her eyes grow with emotion. There we have it.

"How do I know you won't say anything to others?"

"Anything said here is kept here. I would be in court if any of my patients were snitched on." I joke as I try to lighten the mood. Yet she's stiff, unable to show a twinkle in her eyes. "You can tell me anything, may I know your name?"

"Gem."

"Okay, Gem. I promise you, anything."

"Turn that off, then." She points towards the recorder. I hesitate as I pick it up.

"Please?", I see a pained look on her face. Immediately, I turn it off. The wellness of the patients should always be placed first.

"I'm sorry, Gem."

"That's... fine." She slouches a bit, losing her composure. Nearing towards controlled.

"I can't really... I can't open up.", she says. I look up at her and I am met with a face full of agony. Controlled.

"May I know who you can't open up to?"

"My dad." She takes a deep breath.

"He wants me to keep swimming and do it until I'm older but I don't even know if I'm just doing it for him."

"Do you feel better after doing it?"

"No."

"Does your validation come from yourself whenever you swim?"

"My dad tells me that I was good but could be better."

I nod at that.

"Maybe you could speak up gently about how you feel as though you're undecided about your future but you're consider-"

"That's the point. I can't open up."

"Why do you feel that way?"

"Because he always says that I'm being dramatic. I can do it if I tried."

"Was there a conversation where you asked him to listen to you?"

"Countless times. But I see that he wasn't even paying attention to what I was saying."

I sigh. I measure the options of making her open up.

"Here's a plan. Write to him rather than speaking up. Some people tend to understand more when it is written rather than said. So I want you to try and text him. Add why you've texted rather than talked. Add the things you want him to hear. You could get as mad as you can, but don't forget that he's your father."

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A week after talking to Gem, she comes back for another therapy session, this time including her father.

Her father was hesitant every time I'd suggest or give advice.

But after 5 sessions together, he softens into the reality that his daughter isn't clay to be fitted into his mold, she's her own pot.

The session ends in tears and they embrace each other, the words "Sorry." and "I love you." thrown into the air; making the room feel more breathable to be in.

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Two years have passed ever since she was diagnosed. I decided to step in and go back home. I want to be a daughter. I want to fix things between my mom and me. Like Gem and her father.

I want to finally have the responsibility of taking care of my mother. I want to spend the remaining time with her before it goes away.

After that first meeting in the hospital, she kept asking when she could go out. I kept responding about how she should be focusing on how she could get stronger so that we could get out.

We stroll through parks, I help her take a shower, and I choose her outfits for her. We share laughs and smiles while eating, I spoon her food while she munches.

As she gets weaker, I roll her wheelchair to the beach, her favorite place. The breeze is wonderful as I sit down next to her. I feel her speaking, but nothing comes out.

I look at her. "Yes, mami?"

"I... I don't know... My mouth."

"Do you have a hard time speaking, mami?"

I see her tremendous effort trying to nod. She shows me a small movement but I understand quickly.

"Come on, mami. You can do this, you always can." I give her an encouraging smile. I want her to say whatever she wants to say before it's too late. The way I wish for myself.

"Mia... I love you.", she says as she stares toward the sea. I see a small smile on her lips, proud that she said something.

"Last... Tell me what... You want now." She pauses, having a hard time. "I want to hear... Before I go."