The weekend starts like usual- the only difference is me. I am in anxiety mode because this week is when the impending fatal tragedy happens. My mind is a whirlwind of dread and desperation as I wrestle with thoughts and scenarios of what I should do and could do.
This morning after breakfast, Mom asks me to accompany her to the cleaners to pick up Dad's suits. The drive starts uneventfully, the way most errands do when my mom is behind the wheel. She's humming softly to some tune on the radio, a melody that feels warm and familiar. I don't know the song, but it wraps around me like a safety net. Or at least it tries to. My heart is pounding too hard to let me enjoy it.
I glance at her, wondering if she can sense the storm brewing inside me. She doesn't seem to notice. Her hands are steady on the wheel, her posture relaxed, completely unaware that I'm clutching the door handle like it's the only thing keeping me from unraveling.