Seven Days Of My Lethal Apology

My mother was in the hospital, and a crisis at the office was screaming for my attention.

I begged my husband, Logan, to take a meal to her. He didn't even look up from his phone.

Shes your mother, Riley. Why is it my job to play delivery boy?

I practically got on my knees, swallowing my pride until he finally, begrudgingly, gave a stiff nod.

When I finally sprinted back to the hospital, heart hammering against my ribs, I found my mother alone. Logan was nowhere to be found. Hed simply ordered DoorDash and left it at the nurses' station. My mother, still weak and unable to feed herself, had sat there while her blood sugar plummeted to dangerous levels.

Even then, she squeezed my hand, her voice a thin reed. Dont fight with him because of me, honey. Hes just a busy man. Men have their own burdens.

A week later, she was discharged. Afraid of being a burden to our marriage, she refused my invitation to recover at our place. She took a bus back to her quiet house in the suburbs, alone.

That same evening, my mother-in-law, Martha, was admitted for a routine procedure. Logan leaned against the kitchen island, his eyes searching mine with a sudden, needy intensity.

The doctor says Mom needs surgery. Youll need to take a week off to look after her. Youre better at the hospital stuff anyway.

I felt a cold, sharp laugh bubble up in my chest, though my face remained a mask.

My mother was an inconvenience. His mother was our mother.

If he wanted the lines drawn so clearly, I decided right then to give him exactly what he asked for.

My mother hadnt wanted the surgery. Id forced her into it. Id watched my father ignore the small aches until they became the cancer that took him, and I refused to let history repeat itself.

On the first day of her hospitalization, Logan actually showed up. My mother looked at him like he was a visiting saint. She struggled to sit up, gesturing for him to take the only comfortable chair, offering him the fruit Id just peeled for her.

He stayed for ten minutes. By the time I returned from speaking with the surgeon, the chair was empty.

I called him. Where are you?

Works blowing up, Riley. Youve got this handled.

I hesitated, my voice trembling. Logan, Im an only child. I dont have a sister to tag in. I need you here for the night shift so I can close my eyes for an hour.

Before we married, hed promised my parents hed be the son they never had. Now, his voice was tight with irritation. Being a companion isn't hard work. The nurses do the heavy lifting. Ive got too much on my plate. Ill try to stop by later, okay?

He didnt.

For the next two days, I was a ghost. During the day, I pushed my mothers wheelchair through sterile corridors for pre-op tests. At night, I dozed in a plastic chair, waking every time she stirred. My body felt like it was made of lead.

On the day of the surgery, Logan appeared again. I was helping the nurse slide my mother back onto the bed, her face pale and slack from the anesthesia. I felt a surge of reliefsurely, he was here to take over.

I have a massive board meeting today, he said, adjusting his cuffs. Tie my tie for me? I can never get the Windsor knot right.

That was why he was here. Not for my mother. Not for me. For a knot in a piece of silk.

As I looped the fabric around his neck, I kept my voice low. I haven't slept in forty-eight hours, Logan. Can you please stay tonight? Just one night.

He frowned, looking at his reflection over my shoulder. Im a guy, Riley. Its awkward for me to help your mom with you know, the bathroom stuff.

I went still. Part of methe part that had been conditioned to be the "good wife"actually thought, Maybe hes right.

He glanced at my sleeping mother, checked his watch, and walked out without a second look.

That night was the longest of my life. As the morphine wore off, the pain flared. My mother didn't want to wake me, so she suffered in silence, her hospital gown soaked through with cold sweat. When I realized what was happening, the guilt hit me like a physical blow. I didn't close my eyes again.

By day six, my mother finally regained a bit of appetite. She whispered that she wanted a specific chicken soup from a deli across town. I was halfway out the door when my boss called. A file was missinga massive contractand I was the only one who knew the filing system.

My mother gripped my wrist. Go, she rasped. Your job matters, Riley.

Torn and desperate, I called Logan. I begged. I pleaded.

I told you, Im busy, he snapped.

Busy doing what? I yelled, the fatigue finally breaking my filter. What is so important that you cant bring a bowl of soup to my mother?

Ill be blunt, he said, his voice dropping an octave. Shes your mother. Why are you always making her my problem?

My hand shook so hard I almost dropped the phone. I hung up.

Ten minutes later, he called back, sounding bored. Fine. Ill get the soup. But tell her I cant stay.

I told him she needed help eating. She couldn't hold a spoon yet.

When I finally finished at the office and raced back to the hospital, I found my mother grey-faced. The nurse was hanging a glucose drip.

Her blood sugar crashed, the nurse said, her eyes judging. No one fed her.

On the bedside table sat a cold plastic container of soup from a random takeout joint. No Logan. Hed just dropped it and left.

I picked up the container and threw it into the trash can. The thud echoed in the silent room.

My mother reached for my sleeve. Dont fight with him, Riley. Hes just focused on providing for your future.

Tears burned my eyes. She was dying of neglect in a hospital bed and still worrying about my marriage. I had to step out into the hallway just to breathe. I wiped my face, went downstairs, and bought a warm, soft porridge. I fed her myself, one spoonful at a time, until she drifted off.

Finally, she was well enough to leave. When I checked the bill, the insurance coverage was better than expected. She only owed a few thousand dollars.

She clutched the receipt, a tiny smile on her lips. Good. I didnt drag you down too much.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. No matter how much I begged her to stay with us, she insisted on going home. She didn't want to "intrude."

I watched her through the window of the Greyhound bus, her small hand waving until the bus turned the corner. I stood on the sidewalk and let the tears fall.

I went home and crashed into a deep, dreamless sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night to Logans phone blaring.

He sat bolt upright, his face turning ashen. Riley, wake up. Its Mom. Shes in the ER.

Outside the OR, Logan was a wreck. He paced the floor, his breathing shallow, looking like a lost child.

In spite of everything, I tried to comfort him. I offered him water. I sat beside him.

Then, he grabbed my hand, his grip bruising. You need to take the week off work. You have experience with the hospital routine now. You know how to talk to the doctors. Mom will recover so much faster with you looking after her.

He added, Ill help you, of course.

Help me?

The phrasing stung. As if Martha was my primary responsibility and he was just a volunteer. I opened my mouth to argue, but then the "Surgery in Progress" light flickered, and I swallowed my words.

The surgery was a success. Martha was awake by the afternoon, though she was tethered to a catheter and couldn't move.

The moment she was moved to a ward, Logans father, Arthur, marched in with ten relatives in tow. They acted like they were at a tailgate party, loud and oblivious. The nurse eventually pulled me aside and told me to clear them out.

When I asked Arthur to lower his voice, he huffed. Some people have no respect for family, he muttered loudly to a cousin.

The other patients in the room were glaring at us. I felt the heat of embarrassment crawl up my neck and stepped out into the hall.

Inside, I heard someone ask who was staying for the night.

Logans cousin spoke up, her voice matter-of-fact. Riley will stay, obviously. Its her mother-in-law. Who else would do it?

No one questioned it. Not even Logan. It was the natural order of things in their world: the daughter-in-law serves. Logan was a "man"; he didn't do "caregiving."

Eventually, the circus moved on. Logan told me he was taking the relatives out to dinner. Cant have them coming all this way on an empty stomach, he said.

After they left, a nurse gave me a dizzying list of instructions. I took notes, pushing down the simmering resentment. This was Marthas health, after all.

Logan returned late with a bland hospital meal for his mother. He didnt bring anything for me.

My head started to spin. My own blood sugar was dipping. I had to ask the lady in the next bed for a piece of toast just to keep from fainting.

Logan looked briefly guilty and went out to buy a "Deluxe Combo" from the cafeteria. Here, Riley. Eat up.

Id barely taken two bites when Martha started calling out. She was itchy. She was thirsty. She was uncomfortable. By the time I settled her, my food was cold and my appetite was dead.

The doctors needed an hourly log of her urine output. It was critical for tracking her kidney function.

I found Logan on the small cot. You need to help me with the log tonight. I cant stay awake another twenty-four hours.

Guilt-tripped by his earlier forgotten meal, he actually agreed.

Two hours later, Logan was snoring so loudly it shook the walls. I tried to shake him awake, but he just groaned and rolled over.

I could have left it. I could have let the log stay empty. But I couldn't do that to Martha. I stayed awake all night, measuring, recording, and watching the clock.

The next morning, Martha woke up to find her "devoted" son sitting by her bed, while I had finally collapsed into a ten-minute nap on the chair.

Her voice was sharp with disapproval. Since when does the nurse sleep longer than the patient?

My head was throbbing with a migraine. Id slept for maybe thirty minutes total. I told Logan I was going home to shower and change, and that he needed to stay.

Martha, looking much more energetic, called out as I reached for my bag. Riley, Im feeling so sticky. Could you give me a sponge bath before you go?

I looked at Logan. He looked at the ceiling. Im a guy, Mom. It wouldnt be right.

Fine.

I dragged my exhausted body to the basin, filled it with warm water, and scrubbed her down.

I finally made it home and collapsed onto the bed. Ten minutes later, my phone rang.

Logan couldn't find the nebulizer. I told him where it was and hung up.

Ten minutes later: How do you hook up the oxygen flow?

Ten minutes later: Where did the nurse put the charts?

In three hours, he called me ten times. My migraine intensified until I was nauseated. Finally, he whined, Riley, I really cant handle this. You need to come back.

When I walked into that hospital room, Logan looked at me like I was a life raft.

Martha immediately waved him away. Go on, honey. Rileys here now. Go back to the office; I know how important your work is.

Logan patted my shoulder. Thanks, babe. My boss has been riding me all morning. Ill leave Mom in your capable hands.

The second the door closed behind him, Marthas face contorted.

Quick! Get the bedpan!

Shed been holding it. Shed waited for her son to leave so he wouldn't have to deal with the "unpleasantness" of her bodily functions. She was a "good mother"she shielded her son from the reality of illness, while using me as a human shield.

The smell was overwhelming. I looked at the mess, the stained sheets, the bedpan, and I actually gagged.

Martha took offense instantly. Riley! Im your mother. How can you be so heartless?

Im your mother.

Logans voice echoed in my head: Shes your mother. Why are you always making her my problem?

The room started to spin. I walked out into the hallway, fumbling for my phone. A professional-looking woman in scrubsa private health aidewas walking by.

By the time I walked back in, the aide had cleaned everything up with practiced efficiency. She saw the state I was in and put a hand on my arm.

You look like youre about to break, sweetie, she said. I do this for a living. If you need a break, heres my card.

I was mid-sentence, asking about her hourly rate, when Martha shrieked.

No! I dont want a stranger touching me! I want my family!

She glared at me, her eyes wet with staged tears. Youd do it for your own mother, but for me, you want to hire a servant? Youre so unfilial!

The woman in the next bed chimed in. Shes right, dear. Its a bit selfish, isn't it?

I turned to Martha. Ive been awake for days. I am physically failing. This woman is a professional. She knows how to do this better than I do.

Its a waste of money! Martha barked. You just dont care about me. When I took care of my mother-in-law, I didn't sleep for two weeks. We didn't even have these fancy cots back then. Young women today are so soft. You can't handle the slightest bit of hardship.

I realized then: this wasn't about care. It was about power. She had suffered under her mother-in-law, and now she wanted her turn to hold the whip.

I stood at the foot of the bed, my voice ice-cold. Do you know how many times Logan came to help when my mother was in this same hospital last week?

Martha paused, then sniffed. Logan is a son-in-law. Its a miracle he went at all. You cant expect a man to do nurses work.

He didn't even stay to feed her, I said. He sent DoorDash.

Hes a provider! Martha snapped. Hes out there making a living. Why would he waste his time wiping tables?

Where was that money, though? He hadn't spent a dime on my mothers care.

I looked at herher entitlement, her casual crueltyand I saw Logan. The apple hadn't just fallen near the tree; it was rooted in the same bitter soil.

I had spent our entire marriage believing that if I were the "perfect" daughter-in-law, Logan would eventually see my worth. That he would step up when my family needed him.

I was a fool. To him, his mother was "our" responsibility. My mother was mine alone.

I pulled out my phone and sent Logan a text.

[Your mother, your problem. Im done.]