Mom Went Crazy After I Died

Maybe it was the overwhelming hatred I felt for Dad that made me snap back to Mom's side the very next second.

When I saw her, still lying cold and lifeless on the ground after an entire night, the tears came rushing down all at once.

I collapsed over her body, my sobs wracked with frustration and grief.

"Mom, please wake up," I cried. "Dad's so awful! He's trying to report you for taking bribes during surgery. He's trying to get you banned from being a doctor!

"You didn't even take the money, you gave it back to the patient! But Dad believes Denise, and he didn't even bother to check!

"Mom, please! Please don't die. I don't want to be dead anymore, especially with a Dad like that."

I didn't know if my sadness was affecting her, but through my tear-filled eyes, I thought I saw her fingers twitch. My heart leaped with hope, and for a brief, shining moment, I thought she might wake up.

But before I could scream out in joy, the sharp trill of the phone pierced the air.

My whole body jolted when I saw the name flashing on the screen: "Medical Office."

My heart sank. It had to be the hospital, calling to inform Mom that she was being suspended from work.

I didn't even want to imagine what would happen if Mom lost her dream of being a doctor. How could she continue to live without it?

Tears streamed down my face again. I didn't know if it was my crying or the sound of the ringing phone, but suddenly, Mom's lashes fluttered, and her eyes slowly opened.

A rush of joy filled me, but it was short-lived. Before I could react, I watched her reach for the phone.

Panic seized me, and I threw myself forward instinctively. "Mom, don't answer it! Don't!" I screamed, my voice raw and desperate.

But as soon as my hand brushed hers, it passed right through.

I was so frantic, I could barely breathe. She had just woken up—if she found out she was being suspended, who knew what she'd do in her fragile state?

Yet no matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I screamed or cried, she picked up the phone anyway.

Just as I had feared, the phone call lasted barely thirty seconds, but it was enough to completely crush Mom.

Already weak, her body collapsed to the floor, trembling as her eyes locked onto my photo. She sobbed so violently that her entire frame shook, her despair palpable.

"Mary, why is your father so cruel?" she wept, her voice breaking. "Does he not love either of us at all?" Her words were raw with pain. "Will he only be satisfied if he walks over my dead body to clear a path for himself and Denise?"

She curled up on the cold floor, her body folding in on itself, and let out deep, heart-wrenching cries.

Seeing her like that, I threw myself onto her back, my own sobs mingling with hers.

Mom loved Dad—she loved him so much.

Ever since I was born, the stories I'd heard the most were about their love. Mom always told me how she met Dad when she went to the countryside to do volunteer work. He was a volunteer teacher; she was a volunteer doctor.

She had gone there to heal others, but instead, it was Dad who healed her—he cured the deep wounds left behind by her parents' neglect, the pain that had haunted her for years. He helped her shed her crippling shyness, her inability to speak up for herself.

To her, Dad was a beacon of light, illuminating her life again and again.

But then he met Denise, and that light turned into a wildfire, one that scorched and scarred Mom beyond recognition.

The weight of that realization was too much to bear. I clung to Mom tightly, wrapping my arms around her, desperate to ease her suffering.

"Mom, don't cry," I pleaded. "We don't need Dad. We don't need him anymore. If he wants to be awful and rotten, we'll just leave him be. I'm here for you, Mom. I'll always be here with you."

But no matter how much I tried to comfort her, no matter how tightly I clung to her, Mom's cries only grew louder, her body curling up even tighter in the void of my embrace.