Page 57 of Ethan

And her transphobia.

"She-he doesn't sound like a woman."

The misgendering was beyond annoying.

"You're going to make me angry," I said.

"Then kill me."

"For fuck's sake," I whispered beneath my breath. "Let's get you to dinner."

She wandered back and forth in her room, looking for who knows what, then plopped down in her chair and took off one of her shoes. She glared at me and threw it across the room.

"Why did you do that?" I retrieved the shoe and handed it to her.

"Everything is worse when you're here."

"Good to know. Put your shoe on." I waited for her to comply then led her by the arm to the dining room. Her plate was set out on the table. A nondescript protein item sat at its centre.

It made me feel guilty. I often felt that way. Not taking her into my home had been a difficult decision, but the health authority wasn't willing to care for her for the number of hours I needed them to so I could go to work. She couldn't be left alone. I had investigated private care, but the expense would have put me and my mom into bankruptcy. Provincial care had been the only option. The food wasn't great, but her room was large and comfortable, and there were people to care for her, organizing her day and making sure she was safe. It was the best I could do.

One of the care aides brought me a chair and I sat beside my mom while she picked at her food and drank her coffee. She slammed her cup down and scowled at me.

"Coffee is terrible here."

"I'll bring you a cappuccino next time I come in for a visit."

She stabbed at some overcooked carrot pieces. "I'm dead."

It was a constant theme. I understood it. It must be terrifying to feel your faculties slipping away from you. My mom was very aware that she was declining, and it frightened her.

Being dead was the best way she could describe what she was going through.

Despite our history, it broke my heart.

After dinner, I sat with my mom in her room as she nodded off in her chair. The registered nurse, Laurel, came in with my mom's evening medication.

"How's she doing?" I asked.

"She's having difficulty with her mood. The doctor increased the meds to calm her down."

"I notice her legs are still swollen."

"Oh. I didn't know. I'll tell the doctor." I gritted my teeth. Had no one noticed that my mom's legs were swollen? Why should I be the one to point it out? I nearly rolled my eyes.

Laurel touched my mom's shoulder. "Samantha."

My mom stirred and opened her eyes. "What do you want?"

"It's time for your medication, dear."

It took a few seconds until my mom opened her mouth and accepted the spoonful of jam that contained her crushed pills. The nurse gave her a paper cup of water to wash it down.

My mom pointed at her closet after the nurse left. "Look at those. Just look at them."

"Mom, stop with the clothes. I have news."

She rose and went to the closet, gripping the edge of each shirt in turn.

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