Chapter 2: The Refusal
The next day, I packed a small suitcase, hired a cab, and went to his house. I hoped seeing me alone in a wheelchair would remind him that I was not asking a stranger for charity. I was asking my son.
Daniel opened the door with irritation on his face.
“Mom, what are you doing here?”
“I came to see my family and ask for help.”
“You can’t just show up like this.”
He stepped outside and closed the door behind him. Melissa watched from inside, while my grandchildren were quickly sent away before they could even speak to me.
“I can’t live in my house anymore,” I said. “I can’t climb stairs. I only need a place for a week or two.”
“You’ll get help,” Daniel said. “But this isn’t the answer. Melissa has dinner planned. The kids have homework. We have a routine.”
A routine that apparently had no room for his mother.
I reminded him that Arthur and I had helped him buy that very house years earlier.
“That was different,” he said. “It was a loan. We paid it back.”
He knew they had only repaid a small part of it.
Melissa came out with a practiced smile.
“Helen, I wish we could help, but the children have soccer, piano, and family commitments. Besides, the guest room is being renovated.”
One glance through the door told me that was a lie.
Daniel softened his voice.
“Maybe we can help you find assisted living.”
“That costs three thousand dollars a month,” I said. “I receive eight hundred.”
“There are government programs,” Melissa replied brightly. “I’m sure someone in your situation qualifies.”
Someone in my situation.
Not Daniel’s mother.
Just an old woman who belonged in someone else’s care.
I nodded and turned my wheelchair toward the cab.
“Don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.”
Daniel called after me.
“Mom, don’t be like that.”
“Like what?”
May you like
“Realistic.”
Those words stayed with me all the way home.
