A Visit That Changed Everything: How Could She Abandon Her Own Mother?
“She’s not coming, is she?”
The words hung in the sterile air as I fluffed the pillow behind Eileen’s head. She looked up at me with watery blue eyes, her hands worrying the thin edge of the hospital blanket. It had been over an hour since her daughter’s visiting time had come and gone, and Eileen’s humor—a sparkling wit that made the whole ward lighter—had faded into a quiet resignation.
I tried to reassure her. “She might be stuck in traffic, Eileen. You know how the I-95 gets this time of day.”
She just shook her head, her frail shoulders trembling. “It’s not the traffic, Savannah. It’s me.”
I’d been a nurse for eight years at this hospital in Wilmington, Delaware, but moments like this still tore at me. Eileen was the kind of patient you remembered long after the discharge paperwork was filed. She’d tell jokes to the orderlies, sneak extra pudding cups, and ask about everyone’s families. But every day for the past week, she’d asked—sometimes with a forced cheer, sometimes with a hopeful glance—if her daughter, Melissa, had called.
For the first few days, Melissa had called the nurses’ station twice, always short and brisk: “Is she eating? Still taking her meds? Okay, thanks.” No real questions, no warmth. Then the calls stopped. Eileen’s room, once filled with laughter and stories, grew quieter, her gaze lingering on the clock above the door.
One afternoon, as I changed the IV bag, I found myself opening up to her in a way I rarely did with patients. “You know, Eileen, my mom and I had a rough patch a few years back. I didn’t talk to her for months. Sometimes, life just… gets in the way.”
She looked at me with a mixture of gratitude and sadness. “But you called her, eventually?”
“I did,” I admitted. “We made up.”
She smiled weakly. “Melissa’s busy. She has a job, kids… I get it. But I just wish—” Her voice cracked, and she turned her head away. I squeezed her hand, not knowing what to say.
A week passed. Eileen’s spirits lifted a little when the physical therapist came by, but every evening she’d stare at the door, waiting for someone who never arrived. The other nurses whispered about it: “Can you believe her daughter hasn’t shown up once?” “Some people just don’t want to deal with their parents.”
One rainy Friday, as I was finishing my shift, a tall woman with dark hair swept into the ward, clutching a Starbucks cup and her phone. She looked around, her eyes landing on Eileen’s room.
“Hi, I’m looking for Eileen Sanders?”
I recognized her from the photo on Eileen’s nightstand. “You must be Melissa.”
She nodded, not quite meeting my eyes. “Yeah. Sorry, I—work’s been crazy.”
“She’s been waiting for you,” I said, unable to keep the edge out of my voice.
Melissa flinched, then straightened her shoulders and walked in. I hovered outside the door, guilt mixing with curiosity. Their voices drifted out—first tentative, then rising in volume.
“I’m not a bad daughter, Mom. I have my own life! You know how hard it is with the kids and work and—”
“I never said you were bad, honey. I just miss you. That’s all. I don’t have many people left.”
There was a silence, then Eileen’s voice, trembling: “Do you… do you think I wanted to end up here?”
Melissa’s reply was muffled, but I heard the frustration. “You could have moved in with us. But you refused. You said you wanted your independence. So what am I supposed to do, Mom? Drop everything?”
Eileen let out a soft, broken laugh. “I wanted to die in my own home, not be a burden.”
Melissa’s voice cracked. “You’re not a burden. I just… I don’t know how to help you anymore.”
I stepped away, suddenly feeling like an intruder in their pain. But Eileen’s words haunted me all weekend. Was it really abandonment if Melissa was overwhelmed? Or was it just the impossible reality of caring for aging parents in a world that expects you to do everything—career, kids, marriage, and now, elder care?
On Monday, Melissa returned, this time with her two children. They stood awkwardly at the foot of the bed, clutching a homemade card. Eileen’s face lit up, and I saw a flash of the woman I’d first met—funny, bright, and loving. After they left, she squeezed my hand.
“Thank you for not judging her, Savannah. It’s hard for her. Harder than I thought.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. My own mother was only in her fifties, still healthy, but I wondered what I’d do in Melissa’s place. Would I be able to balance it all? Or would I, too, let love slip through the cracks of a busy life?
On Eileen’s discharge day, as I wheeled her out, she looked up at me. “Family is messy, Savannah. But in the end, we’re all just trying our best.”
Now, I can’t help but ask myself: What would you do, if it was your mother? Would you have found the time, or would you have let her wait, alone, hoping for a visit that never came?