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My mother, Helen Whitaker, cried when I placed the keys in her hand. My father, George, simply stood on the porch staring at the ocean, his mouth slightly open, his aged hands gripping the railing as if he feared the house might disappear. Motherhoodsupport network
“You already gave us enough, Ethan,” Mom whispered.
“No,” I said. “You gave me enough.”
For the next three weeks, everything appeared perfect.
Then my sister, Vanessa, showed up with her husband, Craig, and their two teenage sons.
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At first, Mom sounded cheerful when she called. “Your sister wants to stay for a few days,” she said. “The boys love the beach.” Motherhoodsupport network
A few days turned into two weeks.
Then Mom stopped calling me.
When I called her, she answered in a whisper.
“Ethan, honey, maybe you should come.”
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That was all she managed to say before the call disconnected.
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