She Ain't Heavy, She's My Mother by Bryan Batt

Author:Bryan Batt [Batt, Bryan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 978-0-307-58887-6
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2010-06-19T16:00:00+00:00

BACK AT HOME, my father’s drinking had reached its pinnacle and, as predicted, he suffered a massive heart attack. The physicians at Oschner Hospital noted that they had never seen such an enlarged heart. That’s my family. If we are going to do it, it’s going to be big.

My brother and I were pretty spoiled. Mom would later quip in her defense, “I may have spoiled you boys rotten, but you better never act like it.” Confronted with her husband’s bleak diagnosis, Mom realized that her children had lived a sheltered and privileged life with no chores or responsibilities. What if John dies? she thought. What will we do? She decided that Jay and I would now pull our weight, and although there was now a staff of two, Oralea and Howard (who did the heavier labor), from now on we would make our own beds every morning, and hers and Dad’s on the weekends, set the table, clear the table, alternate doing the dishes, and weed the garden (most everyone we knew was still a bit apprehensive about allowing me to operate potentially limb-severing machinery). But the killer was that because of our lack of aiming skills, my brother and I would alternate weekends cleaning the toilets.

Such a big change, I thought—back from summer camp and descending from Little Lord Fauntleroy to Oliver Twist within weeks. But it was one of the wisest decisions she ever made. Many other changes were forthcoming. Dad had to take daily naps and eat healthy, salt-free meals and fresh vegetables. Quiet was enforced and a new menu was set, and there was little or no deviation from it. At first it was quite an adjustment, but she did not back down; a decision had been made unlike any before, and there would be no dissension. Dad would awaken bright and early with us now, no longer hungover in bed as we left for school. In fact he took to making us elaborate breakfasts, big stuffed omelettes and sectioned navel oranges, daily. Jay and I would get our fix of our favorite foods like traditional New Orleans red beans and rice, po’boys, and anything fried from the Newman cafeteria, but not at home. During his recovery, Dad spent days upon days designing a house he would build on the plot of land on Pratt Drive. Mom sat us both down and, with a combination of stoic strength and compassion, told us the truth about our father’s diagnosis.

“Boys—no, you are not boys anymore, although you’ll always be my sweet boys, you are young men.” She took a deep breath and looked upward as she inhaled, lifting her head higher as if gathering strength from above. “Your father is very ill, and we have to do everything in our power to make this home a quiet and calm place for him to heal. You now have your chores and responsibilities. I am so serious about this. There will be no more fighting between you. If you two have a problem, you know to talk it out.

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