By Suzanne O'Brien
Swaddled in her black down coat, Mom picked her way from my car over the frozen gray snowbank. We had decided my car wouldn’t make it up her steep, icy driveway. And since I was already running late for my appointment, we agreed it would be smart for her to get out at the corner. She navigated the distance between the city street and the sidewalk, her Ugg boots breaking through the gritty crust with each step.
As I eased my car past her, I noticed the timer lights flick on in Mom’s front windows. I needed to get going soon. I noticed in my rearview mirror that she had stopped moving.
“Mom? You okay?” I opened the door. Using the roof of the car as a railing, I eased my way toward her.
She stood frozen, ankle deep on the snow-heaped curb. “I’m stranded. Could you just…?” she trailed off.
“Hang tight.” I took a giant step over the icy slope that covered the curb. Powdery snow covered most of yesterday’s slush, now frozen and treacherous.
Bracing myself from the rear corner of the car, I stretched my arm toward her, ignoring the smear of white road salt down the front of my coat. I couldn’t quite reach her. “Can you take a teeny step toward me?”
Her gloved fingers skittered across my sleeve. And then she slipped. Feet first, then bum, then shoulders, settling to a stop inches away from me, legs under the car.
Two years ago, after her cancer returned for good, Mom started referring to me as her rock. Even after I received my own cancer diagnosis a year later, I had been her date for acupuncture appointments, healing touch sessions, and chemotherapy treatments. When my brother, Jay, moved his family in with Mom to help out, I still guarded my times with her. They could have her at home, but she and I had places to go—together.
Now I could really use Jay’s help, but he and his wife had taken the baby down to the farm to see Gram for the day. I stamped my boots deeply into the snow, squatted and tried to pull her from under the car by her armpits. The lower half of her body was wedged under the car, jammed against the tire. Mom was laughing. She had no strength to move.
Last night, my family hunkered down to lose ourselves in an action movie. My nine-year-old daughter pronounced a wounded character, portrayed by Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, a hero for rescuing his daughter from a burning building.
I didn’t feel like a rock now. I was out of breath and a little scared.
Mom was patient. “Take your time, babe.”
“If I could just…” I was afraid if I pulled too hard, I’d hurt her. I tried grasping her waist. “There!” I got her out by a few inches.
But when I let go, she slid back under.
I began to wish Jay had actually found the mythical health bodyguard that we would joke about with Mom. “Imagine a massive retired pro wrestler who could strap you into a BabyBjörn,” Jay would mimic donning an infant carrier. “He could cook for you and take you on walks and bring you to parties.”
“Ooh,” Mom would say, “Are my eyes twinkling?”
“Wait, my foot,” she said as I returned to the armpit hold.
I stopped pulling and adjusted my angle, panting. Neither of us mentioned getting help. It seemed so silly. We should have been able to do this.
“Should we move the car?” she wondered aloud, looking up at the overcast sky.
“No! Mom, you are under the car!”
“Don’t you have to go soon?” she asked.
I backed up and took a glance at my phone. She was right. I had to be at radiation in half an hour. But I was not going anywhere with my mother stuck under my car. I bit back sarcasm. Sure, Mom. You think you’ll be okay here? I’ll just catch the bus. Her concern for me grated on my nerves.
Mom twisted her torso slightly. I could see the effort in her pursed lips, the puff of her cheeks. I leaned down, dug in again, pulled. And just like that she was out.
“Whew!” she said, sitting up and smiling. “What would I do without you?”
Standing, we put our arms around each other and moved with small, safe steps toward the light that spilled from the living room windows onto the snow. Maybe I wasn’t a hero of movie star proportions, but this time with my mom made me feel like one.