I kept this to myself for 20 years.
I turn and face my mother and as I take a breath my heart breaks.
The drab white elevator walls close in on me. We only have to go up one floor but it seems like fifty. My feet feel as if they have lead in them and my legs are shaking.
Sitting in the waiting room for my therapist, I try to lighten the mood and not give away any information via my body language or facial expressions. My two-year old son is talking to his NaNa and asks, “NaNa you play blocks with me?” She replies, “Sure.” And obliges him with helping to build different things. The clock is ticking, my legs are shaking, my nerves are shot, my head is aching and my heart is hurting.
My therapist comes out of the office and after she bids her previous client a farewell, she invites my mother and me in for another session of a series that I have now been attending for several months.
“Dr Sheila, this is my mother and Mommy this is Dr Sheila.”
The room feels as if it is th…