Her Mother’s Daughter

Her Mother’s Daughter Cover Title Page Dedication Prologue Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Chapter Nineteen Chapter Twenty Chapter Twenty-One Chapter Twenty-Two Chapter Twenty-Three Chapter Twenty-Four Chapter Twenty-Five Chapter Twenty-Six Chapter Twenty-Seven Chapter Twenty-Eight Chapter Twenty-Nine Chapter Thirty Chapter Thirty-One Chapter Thirty-Two Chapter Thirty-Three Chapter Thirty-Four Chapter Thirty-Five Chapter Thirty-Six Chapter Thirty-Seven Chapter Thirty-Eight Chapter Thirty-Nine Chapter Forty Chapter Forty-One Chapter Forty-Two Chapter Forty-Three Chapter Forty-Four Chapter Forty-Five Chapter Forty-Six Chapter Forty-Seven Chapter Forty-Eight Chapter Forty-Nine Chapter Fifty Chapter Fifty-One Chapter Fifty-Two Chapter Fifty-Three Chapter Fifty-Four Chapter Fifty-Five Chapter Fifty-Six Chapter Fifty-Seven Chapter Fifty-Eight Chapter Fifty-Nine Chapter Sixty Chapter Sixty-One Chapter Sixty-Two Chapter Sixty-Three Chapter Sixty-Four A Letter from Jackie Acknowledgements About the Author Also by Jackie Walsh Copyright Cover Table of Contents Start of Content Dedication To Phyllis and Denis Prologue The light is dimming now, casting shadows all around, but I continue to dig. Dragging up soil, tossing it aside, digging out more. Lifting my hand, I rub the water from my eyes. Rain? Tears? I no longer know. Sirens whine in the distance, getting louder, closer. I have to find it, take it from the ground. It’s what she wanted, what she asked for. Rain blurs my vision, seeping through my t-shirt and soaking my skin, running down my front, down my back, filling my shoes. I glance up at the house looming in the darkness. A gust of wind catches the broken guttering, banging it against the wall. Bang-bang-bang. I’m alone here, which is what I want. The hole is already filling with water so I work quicker, making it wider, wishing the gathering pool away. To my right I see a plant pot caught below a plank of wood. It cracks when I pull it free. Sweeping the pools of water into the pot, I pour it to the side but the more I bail, the quicker it fills up again. My eyes burn as I look up at the sky and feel the rain sting my face. I think I see Him in the shapes created by the dark menacing clouds rolling past, hiding the stars, hiding the moon. Help me, God. Please, help me. I dig again, harder and harder, grabbing at the earth until finally my fingers catch on something hard. My breathing stops. Tugging and pulling, I haul the box out of the ground and open it. Removing the bundle from inside, I lay it on the grass, let the rain wash it clean. The bag is badly worn and torn in places, but it’s still pretty much intact. With one finger I press on its hard contents. My hand reaches to my forehead, painting a mud cross on my face. The storm rages on around me but now I feel calm inside, more at peace than I have ever felt before. Stretching out my hand, I place it on top of the bundle and gently press down on the tiny skeleton. Chapter One I hate walking through these doors. Failing bodies shuffling past the white walls and cheerful pictures, struggling to get their feet to take them wherever it is they want to go. The dining room, the TV room, the family room. There’s not a lot of choice. When I get to Mom’s door I take a deep breath and cross my fingers. Will she know me? The gentle music humming in the background does nothing to ease my tension. My heart is beating a little faster, my stomach twisting into a knot. This is not how it was supposed to be. I try to put a smile on my face but it’s hard. Hard when I know that what’s behind this door will crush me as it does every time. Mom lying on her sanitized bed, surrounded by photos, flowers, a beaker with some Disney character smiling on it, unaware of anything. Reduced to the package she came in; a body that is also beginning to fade. The doctors say her breathing is becoming more labored, her swallow weakening, her legs no longer able to hold her up. The little things she could do, like hold a spoon, or run a brush through her hair, have all disappeared over the past few weeks. Getting her mouth to open is the new goal. When that goes, we’re all in trouble. A nurse stands with her back to me when I enter the room, blocking my view of Mom and glancing around when she hears the door. For a brief moment I pause, waiting for her reaction. If everything is okay, the nurse will have a smile and a big hello. If things are bad today, she will whisper gently. I know these signs off by heart now. Holding my breath, I wait while she presses the controller on the bed, moving Mom into a raised position. When she is lying flat she looks like a corpse and it scares the hell out of me. ‘Hello Rebecca,’ the nurse says, nice and loud and cheery, easing my stress and letting Mom know that I have arrived. ‘Nancy, Rebecca is here.’ I tilt my head to see Mom but there’s no response. Her glossy eyes are locked on the nurse, looking at her like she’s trying to figure out what she is. ‘Your daughter is here… Rebecca is here.’ I fix my eyes on Mom, willing a reaction. Know me, Mom. Please. Know me. Her lips pinch together. Slowly she moves her head in my direction, lifting my heart in the process. A smile moves the corners of her sagging face, releasing the chains that grip my body. I want to jump around the room and shout out loud. She knows me. She knows me. ‘You look lovely today, Mom,’ I lie. The tide has gone out on my mother’s eyes.