Earl
I didn't mean to snap.
It just… happened.
The apartment was too quiet, the kind that made every small sound feel louder than it should be. My ears were still ringing faintly from the day, that low pressure sitting behind them like a headache that never fully formed.
I was sitting at the table, staring at nothing, when my mom set a bowl of soup in front of me.
"You should eat," she said gently. "You barely touched lunch."
"I'm not hungry."
"You need the energy, Earl. Tomorrow's another long day."
That word... tomorrow, made something inside me snap tight.
"I know," I said, sharper than I intended. "You don't have to keep reminding me."
She paused, hand still resting on the counter. "I'm just trying to help."
"Well, it doesn't feel helpful," I muttered.
She turned to face me then, concern etched into her face. "What's going on?"
I should've taken a breath. I should've stopped.
Instead, all the exhaustion and frustration I'd been holding in finally spilled over.
"You're not always there," I blurted out. "You say you are, but you're not. You leave during treatments, during tests, and I'm just… alone with it. I was always alone"
The words hung in the air, heavy and unfair.
Her face fell, just a little.
"Earl," she said softly, "I wait right outside..."
"I know that," I interrupted, my voice rising. "But it doesn't feel the same. Everyone keeps saying I'm doing great, that I'm being strong, but no one's actually in it with me."
Silence followed. My chest heaved, breath coming faster now, my ears buzzing louder as if reacting to the tension.
For a second, I was sure I'd gone too far.
Then my mom crossed the room and knelt in front of me, bringing herself to eye level.
"I'm sorry," she said. Not defensive. Not angry. Just honest. "I didn't realize you felt that alone."
The fight drained out of me almost instantly, leaving behind guilt and something raw and shaky.
"I didn't mean..." I started.
She shook her head gently. "You don't have to take it back. You're tired. You're overwhelmed. Of course you're going to feel like this."
Tears burned behind my eyes, surprising me. "I'm trying so hard," I whispered. "Every day. And it feels like no matter what I do, it's never enough."
She reached up and rested her hand over mine, warm and steady. "It is enough. You are enough. Even on the days when all you can do is show up."
My throat tightened. "I hate that I'm angry all the time."
She squeezed my hand. "Anger is allowed. Fear is allowed. None of this makes you ungrateful or weak."
I finally looked at her, really looked. Her eyes were tired too. Worried. Carrying their own weight.
"I'm scared," I admitted.
"I know," she said quietly. "And I wish I could take this from you. But since I can't, I'll stay right here. Even when you push me away."
The tears spilled over then, silent and embarrassing, but she didn't comment on them. She just pulled me into a hug, holding me firmly, like anchoring me to something solid.
"I'm sorry I got angry at you," I murmured into her shoulder.
She kissed the top of my head. "I know you are."
We stayed like that for a while, the tension easing, the room feeling a little less heavy.
The treatment was still exhausting and Tomorrow is still coming.