Late-Life Luggage​

When my mother, at 55, finally spoke of divorce,

My father roared, "Then be gone!"

My brother sneered, "Ungrateful old woman!"

I stepped through the scattered chaos, grabbed her hand, and said,

"Mom, I'm taking you home."

1

I walked into a living room brimming with people. My father, my brother, my sister-in-law Brittany, and what seemed like every single one of Brittany's relatives. My mother was alone in the kitchen, silently washing dishes.

Seeing me, Dad stubbed out his cigarette in the overflowing ashtray, his voice grating with impatience. "Go on, talk some sense into your foolish mother. Your in-laws are staying with us, what's she kicking up a fuss for?"

I scanned the crowded room. "Why are they staying here?"

Brittany's mother, Sharon Jenkins, offered a saccharine smile. "Brittany's grandma is in the hospital, stroke. Needs constant care. And wouldn't you know, our place is so much farther from Metropolitan General…"

Before she could finish, my brother Kevin cut her off. "Enough, Mom, why are you explaining anything to an outsider?" He turned to me, his lip curling. "Don't know what bug Mom's got up her butt. Asking for a divorce at her age? Embarrassing."

"My Mom?" I scoffed, a cold laugh escaping me. "Were you born under a rock? No mother at all?"

"You…" Kevin spluttered, caught off guard by my retort.

Brittany jumped in, playing peacemaker. "Mia, your brother just spoke without thinking. We asked you to come back to talk to Mom. This fuss she's making isn't good for anyone."

"Fine. I'll talk to her."

I strode directly into the kitchen, picked up the stack of unwashed dishes my mother was about to tackle, and with a resounding crash, I slammed them down on the living room floor.

2

Even as a child, two things became clear to me. I was the least favored person in my family, and my mother was the one who toiled the most.

When we visited my grandparents, I was never allowed to eat at the main table. After my mother had painstakingly cooked and served all the food, Grandpa would always feign politeness, saying, "Ellie, there's not enough room. You take little Amelia to the kitchen to eat."

I was named Amelia when I was born. My mother, who hadn't had much schooling, later thought the name was too common. She secretly took me to the county office to change it. When the clerk asked her what she wanted to change it to, all she could think of was "Mia." She said I deserved to be cherished and loved by everyone. So, I became Mia Hayes.

Eating in the kitchen was actually a delight, because my mother would always secretly save me a few pieces of meat. While the big family feasted raucously outside, my mother and I would share our quiet, warm meal in the kitchen.

My grades were always excellent in school. But when I was in ninth grade, my father wouldn't let me continue. He said he had connections to get me a factory job, where I could earn at least fifteen hundred a month. I could send a thousand home each month, and with the family's savings, t...