I drive to the hospital in Santa Clarita. It’s the Friday after Thanksgiving. There is nothing in my body that wants to make this drive. I keep trying to distance myself from my mother but she keeps pulling me back in. There is nobody else to account for her. When she’s asked by a nurse who to call, mine is the only name there is to provide. So when hospitals call me to tell me my mother is there, I drive to the hospital.

She is heavily sedated, resting in a hospital bed. She sees me and smiles. “Hi honey,” she says sleepily.

This is her fourth episode in the last year. The nurse who called me told me she was on the freeway when her car ran out of gas. The paramedics picked her up and assessed she was mid-panic attack so they brought her to the hospital. Her car was towed off the freeway and I cant begin to guess where they took it.

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

“Yes of course,” she says. Like why wouldn’t she be okay? Like she’s not in a hospital bed, like she’s not sedated.

I stare at her. I don’t know what to do. At fucking all.

A nurse comes in to check on my mother and I step into the hallway with her to explain. I tell her about New Jersey. I tell her about Huntington Beach.

The nurse tells me they can get a doctor from the psychiatric ward. She doesn’t know how long that will take though, since it’s a holiday weekend. I can tell she just wants me to take my mother home. She wants to be rid of this problem. Just take your nice mom home and be with her. I tell her I will wait for the evaluation.

My mother and I wait together. I don’t tell her what we’re waiting for and she doesn’t ask. She doesn’t ask to leave either. The television is on without sound and she’s watching the pictures. I don’t know if I’m supposed to make conversation. I do know that my whole body feels like it’s on the brink of collapse from adrenaline.

When the doctor finally comes in, he asks me to step out so he can talk to my mother alone. I step just outside the door and try to overhear but he draws the privacy curtain and all I can register are occasional murmurs. After less than 10 minutes he calls me back in and lets me know they will not keep her.

My heart hammers. How is that even possible? I ask him that. “How is that even possible?”

He tells me she’s lucid enough and understands that what she did was irrational and wrong. She does not appear to be a danger to herself or others so they cannot keep her.

He leaves the room and I am left alone with my mother again. She is silhouetted behind the privacy screen and I can see her making clawing motions with her hands, like something I’ve seen a demon do in horror movies. I spin around to see if the doctor is still nearby. Someone else has to see this shit besides me for once. But he is gone and the hospital is quiet.

They discharge her to me around 9 pm.

I no longer live in Southern California. I am visiting friends in Huntington Beach, but I will not dare bring my mother there. This drama is all my own and always has been.

I call Sh- to see if I can bring her there. She says yes at first, but then calls me back 20 minutes later and tells me that I have to bring her in quietly through their back gate because she does not want her husband to know. I tell her it’s fine, I’ll figure something else out.

I drive back to the Valley. I’m not even sure why. It’s nearly 10 pm when I stop at the Motel 6 on Ventura. I go inside and my mom follows. I ask for a room. If I was on the brink of collapse at the hospital, I am well past any reasonable physical or psychological state now. I am scared of being in the same room with my mother, let alone sleeping with her there.

My mother runs a shower for herself. I lie face down on the hotel bed and clutch my car keys and the room key beneath my pillow. I feign sleep so I don’t have to talk to her and eventually I pass out.

In the morning, I ask my mom where I should take her. She tells me she’s living in one of the buildings we lived in when I was a kid. It’s in the Valley, more or less down the street actually. I drive her there, part dissociated, part heartbroken.

I recognize the front of the building when we approach it. She tells me to drop her by parking lot gate where the cars go in and out. She tells me she does not have her keys. I ask her how she’s going to get into her apartment and she tells me she’ll just climb in the window since she’s on the first floor. No problem, she says.

She is not asking me to stay or help so I drop her where she wants. I get out of the car and we hug, and then I drive off, gasping through tears that are choking me.