“My doctor even said that if I continue doing well with my diet and exercise for a few more months, I might be able to go off my meds.”

“Fine, Mom, yes. You’re a healthy eater and that’s great your doctor thinks that. But God, what if you had collapsed in front of me and the medical staff asked me if you were taking any medications? Or what if they asked me what illnesses you had? I wouldn’t have been able to give them the right answer to any of that. That’s so unbelievably dangerous. Don’t you get that?”

“I admit, it wasn’t the best idea, but you try to control every part of our lives ever since your dad died. It gets tiring after a while.”

I scoff, my jaw on the floor. “I’m not trying to control anything. I put limits on certain things you do because if I don’t you’ll drive yourself into the ground. And look: I was right. You keep me in the dark about your diabetes, you hide your health problems from me, and see what happens? You end up in the hospital.”

“Nicole Elise DiMarco, I may have made a mistake, but I’m still your mother. You don’t take that tone with me, young lady.” She wags her finger up at me. “You don’t know better than me about everything.”

“Maybe I do. Maybe just because I’m your daughter doesn’t automatically mean you always know best. Maybe you should listen to me. Maybe you should be open and honest with me about your health. Is that too much to ask?”

“Open and honest, Nikki? Really?” Turning her head toward the window, she says nothing for nearly a minute. I don’t either. The silence is louder than when I was nearly shouting a minute ago.

She finally turns back, her dark eyes on mine, her voice steady. “I know you mean well. But it’s just too much sometimes. It made me not want to tell you certain things. I was afraid I would stress you out even more if I told you about my health problems. I know it was wrong of me to hide it from you, but I didn’t want you to worry about me even more. You moved here for me. You gave up your job, your friends, your life in Oregon, your dreams to help me. I feel like such a burden on you sometimes.” Her eyes glisten under the overhead lights. “I’ve brought so much worry to your life. I didn’t want to add more.”

Bracing my hands on the railings of the bed, I lean down to her. For the past year and a half I thought I did such a good job making it seem like I was happy here, all the while hiding the constant strain of trying to make a life and a living.