I pull my cell phone close as I attempt to open my eyes. The April sunshine is bright through the blinds I forgot to close last night. It’s 9:15! I hop from my bed and hurry to Liberty’s crib. It’s empty—Alma must already have her downstairs allowing me to sleep late. A gift every mom loves.
I find Liberty in her high chair munching on her cereal and Alma reading the newspaper with coffee in hand nearby. I pour a mug of coffee while I wait for my toast to brown. Liberty cheers when the toaster pops up.
I secure my hair in my usual ponytail. It allows me to go an extra day or two between washing it. I spend my extra minutes each morning lying in bed or cuddling Liberty.
Today I wear a long-sleeved T-shirt under my blouse. Along with added warmth, it fit better over its thickness. I need to ask Alma to help me shop for more this weekend. Just the thought of shopping exhausts me. I sigh as it’s a necessary evil.
Today I cover high school woods class. I’m nervous thinking of all the ways teenagers can injure themselves with tools and saws while under my care. If I were more secure financially I would only select positions I felt comfortable in. Subbing three or four times a week will not fill my checking account and let me be picky, so today I will be a high school woods teacher.
I check Hamilton’s texts from this morning. As I know his baseball schedule, Hamilton now texts me only the reasons he’s too busy to call. ‘Photo shoot tomorrow’, ‘hospital visits today’, ‘dinner and contracts tomorrow with’ this company or that one—his texts are meant to let me know how busy he is when he can’t call. Instead they further prove me right in allowing him more time to acclimate before I reveal his daughter to him.
At dinner I relive our outdoor day. I wish I could plan more days like this with Liberty and Alma. I’m lost in memories and thoughts.
“Madison,” Alma interrupts our silent dinner. “Are you feeling okay?” She tilts her head and furrows her brow.
I inform her I’m fine and just tired. My appetite grows smaller when I’m tired, and I’ve been tired a lot lately.
“You rarely eat. Your clothes are starting to hang on you. And you weren’t heavy to begin with.”
I hear her real meaning. She’s worried. My constant lack of energy and appetite worry her. She’s reaching out in hopes of pulling me out of my ongoing funk. I don’t mean to worry her. I need to make an effort to ease her worries.
I cringe when Hamilton’s FaceTime call rings late Sunday evening. The Cubs were home this afternoon—I should have realized there was a small chance he’d call tonight. I glance around my bed covered with notebooks scattered around me before I accept the call on my Mac with a smile upon my face.
“Wow,” his warm masculine voice hugs me from afar. “You’re writing I see.”
“Let’s chat for a few minutes then I’ll let you get back to work so you don’t forget what you are writing.” Hamilton licks his lips before beginning. “How are you?”
Wow. Please tell me he didn’t call for idle chit-chat. I don’t have the patience for this.
“I’m good, just busy.”
“Madison,” Hamilton’s tone pierces my outer armor. “It’s me. I may be busy and too many miles away, but I see you. I see more than you want me to.” He clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair. “I know it’s back and it is time you start treatment again.”
My eyes sting as tears threaten. I’ve tried to text more than call as my appearance hints I am struggling. Hamilton and Memphis have been down this road with me a few times in the six years they’ve shared their home with me.
“I know you don’t need me to point out how I know. So, let’s move on to discussing what’s going on and how we plan to work through it.”
My hackles rise, and I prepare to tell him it’s none of his business. How dare he try to help me from his perfect life in the spotlight high in his condo overlooking Chicago. I want to fight, I want to hang up, I want to be alone with Alma and Liberty. But I’m too tired to fight against him. I’m tired of being tired.
I wipe my tears before I nod. It’s all Hamilton needs to know I’m in need of his help yet again. He offers to make appointments with my physician and counselor for me. He knows Memphis helped with this in the past.
“I saw a counselor down here last winter. I’ll go online and schedule an appointment.” As much as I want to curl into a ball and hide in my bed 24/7, I know from past experiences talking helps, and I need to get better for Liberty. She deserves me at my best.
“Don’t!” Hamilton’s adamancy startles me. “Don’t go there. It’s not the same and you know it.”
Of course, he knew I’d compare myself to my mother. Her depression and her alcoholism took her from me after Dad’s death.
“You are stronger than her,” Hamilton promises. “you seek help when you need it. You do what it takes to get better.” His eyes attempt to slip through my armor—they implore me to believe. “Do you want me to call Doc in Athens to get a referral? He attended Mizzou—I’m sure he knows someone close by you can see. I know you hat the side-effects, but the meds have worked in the past for you.”
“I’ll call Doc in the morning.” Hamilton tilts his head while squinting. “I promise I will call.” I put as much feeling into my words as I can. He contemplates my sincerity. I realize he is remembering me making promises in the past I didn’t keep. “I’ll send you a pic of my script.”
Hamilton apologizes. He explains he trusts me but knows the illness might prevent me from following through. Someday I hope to be deserving of his trust. Until I share Liberty with him and begin to see my way out of the current darkness, I am not worthy of his trust.
Hamilton vows to check-in more often. He urges me to email or text anytime about anything. Although he may not be able to reply right away he promises he will read them. He asks my permission to talk to his mother about tonight’s conversation. When I agree, we say goodbye and I return to writing my current story.