A Night Of Regrets

Chapter 2:Holding It Together

Joy sat on the edge of her mother's bed and watched her chest rise and fall with quiet breath after quiet breath. The room, in dim light, was cast in pale light emanating from a little lamp beside her.

On the table next to her was a pile of medical bills-one after the other, each sounding more intimidating than the last.

And then it piled up: rent, groceries, utilities. Every coin she made went to her mother's medicine and to keep them afloat.

Her mother stirred, her eyes slowly opening. "Joy, sweetheart, still here?" That low and weak voice, in its timbre ever so soft, ever so loving, somehow managed to make everything just less overwhelming.

"Yeah, Ma, just checking in on you before bed." Joy was able to paste a smile onto her face; weariness rested heavy on her shoulders.

She never wanted her mother to see her stress, her exhaustion. Her mother had enough with which to concern herself, as it was.

"You're working too hard, baby," her mother whispered back, extending a frail hand for Joy's. "I wish I could do something to help."

"You're helping just by being here, Ma," Joy said, taking her mother's hand gingerly. "Don't worry about me. I'm fine." She did now, of course, though every time she did, it sounded a little more like a fabrication.

She had heard her mother's soft sigh, the sadness in helpless eyes. "I have been praying for you each day, Joy. I ask God to give you strength, to watch over you when you're out there working so hard."

Joy swallowed. She did not want to appear emotional. "Thanks, Ma. That means much to me."

She got up and tucked the blanket around her mother a bit tighter. "I'll let you rest now. Sleep a bit, okay? Tomorrow's another day."

"Joy." her mother called as she turned to leave the room.

"Yeah?"

"Promise me, you'd take care of yourself. You're the only one I have left, sweetheart. I just can't lose you, too."

The lump rose to her throat, but she nodded, forcing another smile. "I promise, Ma. Now go to sleep, all right?

Her mother smiled wearily, small, and closed her eyes again; her breathing was slow, regular. Joy stood the rest of the moment there watching her.

How to tell her mother how scared she is? How to tell her that bills are overwhelming, that it doesn't matter how many hours she works, it's never enough?

She couldn't. Not when her mother was so fragile, so near the edge herself.

Joy slid silently from the room and into the narrow hallway back to her bedroom.

At last, she cried.

She slid to the floor, putting her face in her hands as the sobs burst from her. It wasn't the exhaustion, or was it concern-it was the helplessness gnawing at her day in and day out.

As much as she works, does all she can, yet whatever it is, it always seems like she falls short. For all those bills, she never got paid; rent was always one week short of being overdue, and then there was her mother's medication-so much of her income went towards that.

Joy slapped her palms against her eyes to push the tears back. She would not cry. She couldn't fall apart. Not now, and not ever.

If she fell apart, who'd be holding things together? Her mother needed her to be strong. The world needed her to be strong.

"You're fine," she whispered through hiccups. "You're fine."

She lay there a little while longer, wracked by this tide of emotion that ebbed, depositing her in the wash of that too-familiar numbness, the quiet.

She rubbed her face on her sleeve and rose, glancing at the old clock on the dresser.

It wasn't long after midnight; in a few hours, she would be up again and the whole thing would start over: another day, like so many spent, just barely scratching by and trying to convince herself it was all okay.

Joy came to the little window and looked down on the city below. The streetlights all flickered on, far away; car noises and faraway police sirens filled up the night. A city that never slept, a city without stops however hard one struggled with it.

"I can get through this," she said-a whisper, yet words into empty air.

She was at an edge where one blow could snap her, and the truth was-she didn't know for how much longer she was able to do this.

Of course, she couldn't let that be-not while her mother was still alive, not when yet there was hope.

Even though it was a small flickering thing, it was yet something she needed to cling on to-for her mother's sake, for their sake.

The soft rap at the door startled her, and she wiped away the last of her tears before opening the door a c***k.

Her mother was leaning against the doorframe-her face white and haggard-but her eyes still shone with that soft, love.

"Ma, you should be resting," Joy said, reaching to take her back to bed.

Her mother had whispered, "I just wanted to check up on you. I heard you crying."

The contraction in Joy's heart was painful as she shook her head and gave a weak smile to her mother. "I am all right, Ma. I am just tired. Nothing."

Her mother looked at her for one long moment, her eyes filled with comprehension.

She reached up and stroked Joy's cheek very gently. "You don't have to always be strong, you know. It's okay to let yourself feel things."

Joy swallowed the lump in her throat once more and nodded. "I know, Ma. But for right now, I've got to be strong for both of us."

Her mother smiled softly; the sadness wasn't quite gone. "You are such a good daughter, Joy. I don't know what I will do without you."

"You won't ever have to find out," Joy whispered and tucked her mom back into bed.

She tucked her in, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head-a silent vow that however hard it became she'd keep going.

She'd keep fighting. For her mother, for their small world, for the life they still shared together.

Even if with every day that passed it meant breaking a little more.