My cousin, Kaylie, never calls me on the phone. When my phone rang on Monday, July 15, I didn’t want to pick up the phone. I did because I knew I had to.

“Hi, Kaylie.”

“Did anyone call you yet?”

“No. What about?”

“Garget has been in a car accident.”

Kaylie has called my mother Garget most of her life. Her younger sister, Amber, couldn’t pronounce Mom’s name, Margaret, when she was little. She called her Garget and the name stuck.

I made arrangements to fly home to Middletown, New York, to see my mom. Even though I write words for a living and I’m pretty damned good at it, I find it difficult to describe what I saw. Kaylie and my nephew, David, tell me she looks better than the day it happened.

I walked into the Mom’s room in the ICU on Sunday, July 21, and every part of my mother was bruised or bandaged. She is being kept sedated in order to heal.

Mom was grimacing in pain even in her sleep. I know that look. I’ve seen it before. The cart to the right of her bed had eight machines running to keep track of medicine, her blood pressure, her heart rate, her saline solution to keep her hydrated, and a few other things. To the left of her were two bags. One was liquid nutrients. I forget what the other one was.

Whenever we spoke, Mom reacted. She couldn’t wake up because she is on a lot of pain meds. Among them is fentanyl. The head-on collision totaled Mom’s Hyundai Tuscon. She’s had it less than a year. In the accident, the engine was chucked across the road. Every air bag was deployed. The air bags are likely the reason why I was standing looking at my unconscious mother and not planning a funeral.

At the hospital, she told David she was in a car accident and her wrists were broken. She didn’t remember anything else. I hope she never does. Her clothes were cut off her. They were so bloody, Kaylie authorized hospital staff to throw them away.

As I stood by her bedside, it was difficult to speak. I looked at her right arm, bandaged tightly. By Sunday, surgery had been performed on her right wrist to repair it. There were many tiny broken bones. Her fingers are fine, but swollen. Her left ankle was broken and repaired. It, too, had many tiny broken bones. She had a stabilizer, which ran through the bottom of her foot and attached to another piece, which went halfway through her calf. Hopefully, she’ll be able to walk once everything heals.

As I looked at the mechanical breathing of my mother, I learned a machine was helping her to breathe and inflate her collapsed lung. She has seven broken ribs on the right side and still needs to have her left wrist and forearm repaired. She has had several CT scans, which come back normal, but I will only truly be reassured when she is awake and talking. When she is awake, she will have an MRI to make sure she is cognitively okay.

Mom is two inches shorter than me. She has a huge laceration across her chest from the seat belt. Kaylie won’t let me see the photo she took. Maybe later. Her hospital gown is draped loosely over her. She doesn’t have a blanket to keep warm. I suppose it might also be too painful to be covered right now. Her left shoulder and partway down her back is purple and blue. Mom also had lacerations across her knees. Her right knee has five staples in it.

Everyone took turns talking to Mom on Sunday. The family was gathered around her bedside talking with her. It’s hard to know what to say. It was hard for me to remain present. David noticed I was struggling. He leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Just to let you know, I’m ready whenever you are.”

I told him I was ready, but I was waiting for everyone else to leave, so I could have a few moments alone with Mom. David knows me well enough that I would never say anything and would, instead just wait.

“You all need to leave so Irene can talk to Grandma alone.”

I smiled. Everyone complied. I heard an, “Oh, yes. Absolutely.” I think it came from Aunt Elaine, but I’m not sure. I told Mom I loved her. I told her not to worry about anything. I got this. I’ll take care of the bills and whatever else needs to be done. I caressed her forehead because I was too short to reach in and give her a kiss.

The stabilizer was removed on Friday, July 26. They will attempt to remove her breathing tube today. If it is too painful or she cannot breathe right on her own, they will not remove it. As I write this, I await word whether it has happened. I just know it will happen today, but not a time.

David picked me up at the airport in Newark at 7:30 p.m., and drove me the 90 minutes home on Saturday, July 20. We talked until 4 a.m. David and I had a tenuous relationship after my grandmother died in 2011. We were both struggling with our own mental health issues. None of that matters now. He apologized and we picked up where we left off.

I’ll keep that conversation near and dear to my heart. A lot of air was cleared. A lot of tears were shed. On Sunday night, David made me dinner. He’s always been a fantastic cook and baker. I had enough food for my visit to take back to my hotel room, so I didn’t need to buy any food.

On Wednesday, as David, Kaylie, and I were at Mom’s house getting some papers and legal documents, one point was made clear by Kaylie – Mom has always been the one who helps everyone else. You need a ride to a doctor’s appointment? Yep, she’s got ya. You need a little help paying a bill? Yeah, here’s some cash. Now, she needs our help.

Kaylie and Amber are both nurses. Kaylie is the main contact for the hospital. They are interpreting the medical jargon and sending the information out to the family. Kaylie told David and I last night she is shielding us from some of the information because it would needlessly worry us. I appreciate that. I have enough to worry about. David is gathering mail, mowing the lawn, and maintaining Mom and Ed’s house. I have finances, which has been a massive struggle.

Mom has been with Ed for more than a decade. In 2018, Ed made his will and health proxy. If Mom is incapacitated, I agreed to make medical decisions for Ed and honor the wishes of his will, should he pass on.

Ed has been in a nursing home since April. He had an accident in December and was in the hospital until then. He has been diagnosed with dementia. I now have to take care of both of them from halfway across the country.

I saw Ed on Wednesday. He understands Mom is hurt and it will be a while before she can visit. She visited him every day. David has agreed to visit at least once a week. I am in the process of figuring out phone calls to him and paying all the bills that are due.

I have petitioned the Orange County Court for guardianship over Mom, so I can pay her bills and make health care decisions for her until she is able to do it herself again. I will be spending tomorrow on the phone with lawyers. The court attorney left a message for me on Friday.

Me in Mom’s hospital room.

Honestly, I just want my mom to wake up and give us all shit because we haven’t been combing her hair to make her look nice or some dumb shit like that.

Before I left Scottsbluff to head to Middletown, I was texting with David. He told me, “I don’t know what to do.” I told him I didn’t either, but we would figure it out together. It’s been hard. These are responsibilities I don’t really want because I don’t understand everything. I feel myself shutting down every time I look at a legal document, but it must be done.

This has been a really difficult two weeks for me, so much so, that I can still only describe things through “reporter Irene.” The emotions are overwhelming. I need to be able to stay slightly distant in order to get the legal permissions in place and pay bills. The tears come at night, when I’m alone in my home office. Then, I need to pick myself up again and press on. I have to be there for Mom. She needs to concentrate on healing, not telling Capital One to fuck off and I’ll get the bill paid.

Today is July 28. It is Mom’s 77th birthday. I still don’t know what to do, but we’re all trying our best.