A Step Backward ♥ (Part 2 to Punk Rock Fairy)

Jasper was quiet as I carefully maneuvered the car down the mountain roads. We were halfway through our journey to see mom, and we had only chatted briefly here and there as we traveled. He had mainly been looking out his window, his right earbud in, keeping his left ear unoccupied so he could hear me. He wasn’t one to shut me out, but he did often like getting lost in his head. I had resigned to leaving him be, and I had my own music quietly playing so as to not disturb him. I knew he was fighting an inward battle right now, and the closer we got to mom, the harder it was going to be for him. 

I was slogging through my own warzone in my head. I felt a small kernel of excitement that we could see mom, but these visits were by no means full of joy and happiness. My mom had been declining, and I knew Jasper was scared to see her. He didn’t like seeing her become someone he didn’t recognize as the damned schizophrenia plagued her mind.

Before her symptoms had gotten really bad, she still lived with us at home. Her depression had only been worsened by the fact that her parents, my grandparents, had essentially cut off all contact with her. They saw her as shameful, holding onto the hard cultural Chinese view of family members with mental illnesses, and they wanted nothing to do with her. Feeling abandoned by her parents only made my mother suffer further, driving her down into deeper states of delusion. As she began to distance herself from us and lost motivation to get up every day, her memory also began to dwindle. She could recognize me, dad, and Jasper, but it would take longer each time for her to do so. She was chronically tired, but once she began to hear voices, she became fearful and alert, unable to sleep at night. That’s what led to her being given medication to help her sleep - it’s why she had been practically fully sedated during our move from North Carolina to Ridge Rock. She had just enough wherewithal about her to get through the airport as we pushed her in her wheelchair. She wasn’t violent or dangerous - she was just hurting, scared, and suffering from an illness she never asked for. 

My dad had insisted on putting her into residential care in order to aid her recovery, especially since he wasn’t home often and Jasper and I had our own responsibilities. None of us could really be around to take care of her, and my dad was desperate for her to return to some semblance of ‘normal.’ The care facility could provide her with routine and balance, as well as making sure she took her medication, had the opportunity to socialize with others, and be in a place where she would feel comfortable and supported. So, my dad worked even longer and harder in order to afford it. That’s where I can give my dad credit: he loved his wife through and through, even as she became a shell of her former self. He wasn’t giving up on her - he would fight tooth and nail to see her get better. It’s one of the things I admired most about him.

We pulled into the parking lot for Glory Garden Care and I felt the air in the car shift as Jasper seemed to shrink in on himself. I knew he was fighting with every fiber of his being to not cry. He absolutely hated coming to visit mom because every time we did, she seemed worse. It killed him inside. But I also knew that he was afraid that if he missed out on seeing her, she would forget him. It was an ugly double-edged sword. Even though I knew he might react poorly, I reached over and took his hand, squeezing it gently. It about broke my heart when he squeezed back with all his might. I didn’t even mind the pain he caused. I knew he needed me, and I needed him, too. 

We both exited the car and made our way up to the sliding doors that parted at our approach. We checked in at the front desk, and the receptionist smiled kindly, letting us know our mother had been wheeled down to a private visiting room. We followed her directions and made our way through the brightly lit facility, where other patients were scattered about with nurses and staff, talking to their family members, reading, or on their way back to their apartments. Some were old, some were younger, some were in wheelchairs, some were walking slowly by on canes, smiling at us as we passed. It was a motley crew of the broken, decrepit, and undesirable. At least, that’s what my grandparents called my mom.

We found the private room and I gently knocked before pushing the door fully open. There sat my mom in her wheelchair by the window, which framed a picturesque view of the April morning behind her. A green lawn sprawled out and was dotted here and there with horses - the ranch next door was an added bonus for the residents here. The owners were lovely people and would sometimes bring ponies over for the residents to pet and interact with. My mom loved it when they came. 

My small mother raised her head to take us in as we entered, her face void of emotion. No iota of recognition crossed her face. I felt like my heart was being crushed. 

“Hi mom,” I spoke first, trying hard to keep the tremor of emotion out of my voice. Jasper remained quiet at my side, slightly behind me. It’s like he was afraid to get too close to her.

My mom regarded us, her eyes slowly scanning over us. Her black hair was up in a bun today, and her dark slanted eyes had a faint glow to them. Despite the hell she endured, her skin was still smooth and beautiful save a few wrinkles, though her eyes had dark circles beneath them, and she appeared older due to being hunched over in her chair. My mom was only fifty years old and had always had a natural young appearance: she was Meiying, a beautiful flower. Her name didn’t betray her. 

My mom still didn’t speak: that was a major symptom of her type of schizophrenia. She fell mostly into the catatonic type, especially since she now was less reactive to stimuli, rarely spoke, and remained rigid. Her anti-tremor medication had driven her further into these types of symptoms, but it was almost a relief because her delusions had severely lessened, along with her hallucinations of hearing voices. However, she now was like a mute doll. 

“Mom, how are you feeling today?” I asked, sitting in one of the chairs across from her and gently taking her hand. I wasn’t going to tell her who I was yet. I wanted to see if she could get it on her own. 

She slowly turned her head to look at me, though the movement was so slight it was barely noticeable. Her face remained expressionless. I knew she was there, it just didn’t seem like it. Her latest evaluation hadn’t been great, but I refused to give up hope. 

Jasper finally moved to sit in the chair beside me, but he didn’t touch mom. He was keeping his gaze turned away from her, towards the window. I couldn’t even be angry at him. It’s not like mom noticed.

We sat with her for what seemed like forever, but it was only twenty minutes. I knew because I kept glancing at the clock on the wall behind my mom. Jasper had yet to speak, and I had no idea what to say. It was painfully silent. 

I sighed quietly and shifted, squeezing my mom’s hand once more. It was so delicate, her fingers long and slim, smelling slightly of lavender lotion. I guessed they still put on her favorite scent. I felt comforted by that. 

Suddenly, my mom squeezed my hand back. I looked up, startled, and noticed my mom’s lips slightly move. I felt my eyes widen, and I quickly leaned in towards her, straining my ears. Was she going to speak?

My mom’s mouth worked a bit more, and I heard it. It was the softest whisper in the world, but I heard it.

“My…little…fairy?” she murmured, her eyes barely able to meet mine. 

She was trying. 

She was fighting.

I about burst into tears.

My mom had called me her 玉女, her yùnǚ, when I was growing up. It means ‘jade woman,’ and also refers to fairies in Chinese myths and legends. She knew she had wanted to name me Jade, and I ended up growing small and petite, so the nickname was perfect. It’s why back when Grayson had called me a punk rock fairy, my heart had swelled with a strange mixture of sorrow and joy. I was my mom’s little fairy who matched the description of the Chinese saying bīng qīng yù jié: clear as ice and clean as jade. 

I noticed Jasper was now alert, staring at mom. He leaned in and took mom’s other hand.

“Mom, it’s me,” he said, his tone desperate, his eyes full of worry. “I’m here, too.”

Mom’s eyes moved towards Jasper. He sucked in a breath and held it. 

My mom stared at him. 

It was silent.

It felt like an eternity passed before finally, finally, she mumbled once more.

“My…crown…jewel,” she hummed. 

In the instant those words left her lips, Jasper began to cry. Fat tears streamed from his eyes, the eyes that looked so much like mom’s. Jasper, 碧玉, her bì yù. Her other precious stone, her son. He wasn’t forgotten. 

I sat, watching my mom gaze at Jasper as he cried. There was a hint of love in her eyes. I was in utter shock. I couldn’t believe my mom recognized us both. How could she be doing worse? She just recalled both of her children’s nicknames from when we were babies. Did she truly know who we were? Or was she just saying what came to her mind? Did she really know we were there?

I squeezed her hand. 

“That’s right, mom,” I said, smiling softly. “It’s us, it’s Jade and Jasper.”

My mom stirred slowly, attempting to raise her head and straighten her back. I immediately stood and moved behind her, gently placing my hands on her shoulders and pulling her up to rest against the back of her wheelchair. She felt so frail, though I know that was just because she had lost weight from when refused to eat due to her depression. She was better nourished now. 

My mom slowly blinked, still holding onto Jasper’s hand, who continued to cry. I lightly rubbed her shoulders, and she seemed to relax, coming out of her statue-like state. 

“Mmm…” she murmured, shifting ever so slightly. 

“Mom, I missed you,” Jasper suddenly said, getting out of his chair and onto the floor, kneeling in front of her. “I missed you, I missed you so much,” he sobbed, laying his head in her lap. 

I felt even more in shock. Jasper was usually incredibly reserved. He followed in my dad’s footsteps when it came to emotion: clean-cut, rare, and without flair. My dad’s military training had stripped him of his typical empathic responses. It’s not like he was devoid of emotion and never cried, but he was certainly different than he used to be. Jasper had decided that was a good way to survive, especially since we moved so much, so emotional attachment became a danger to us. A threat to further our heartache. But now, Jasper cried, good and hard. 

My mom’s hand slowly yet surely raised, shaking midair. Then, she rested it on his silky black hair, and ever so slightly, she petted his head. I moved back around to be able to look at her face.

She looked peaceful, her lips quirked up in the smallest smile, her eyes still mostly vacant as they now stared straight ahead. I was worried she was sinking back into another catatonic state. 

“Mom, how are you feeling?” I asked once more, trying to get her to keep talking. 

She remained staring ahead, though her hand continued to stroke Jasper’s hair. He had quieted down, and he remained kneeling with his head in her lap. His cheeks were wet, but he looked beyond blissful. 

It was a picture-perfect moment.

I quickly slipped my phone out of my pocket and discreetly took a photo. I needed to remember this. I wanted to show the doctor. I needed this to refresh my hope that she was getting better. That she could come home. 

I heard a light knock on the door, and then the head of a nurse poked in, an apologetic smile on her face.

“Hi,” she said softly. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but it’s time to take her back. We need this room for the next visitation.”

I sighed quietly and put my phone back in my pocket as Jasper got to his feet, slightly wobbling. I turned and bent over, gently kissing my mom on her forehead. 

“Bye, mom,” I whispered. “I love you.” 

I felt a tear finally slip down my cheek as I straightened, allowing Jasper to say his goodbye. Then, we turned and left, slipping past the nurse who entered to retrieve my mom and push her back to her apartment. It was time for her medication, time for her to sleep. 

Jas and I made our way back to the front of the care facility, and on our way, we happened to bump into Dr. Orstol, my mom’s main doctor.

“Ah, the Fisher kids!” he said cheerily, pausing to talk to us. We both must have looked somber because his blue-gray eyes filled with concern. “How was your mom today?” 

“She…she spoke,” I said quietly, feeling a sudden bubble of excitement. I hurriedly pulled out my phone and showed him the picture I took of her petting Jasper’s head. “She said our childhood nicknames and looked at us when she did. She knew who we were,” I babbled. 

Dr. Orstol looked at the picture and smiled, though a bit sadly. 

“Did she say anything else?” he asked as I re-pocketed my phone.

“Um…well, no,” I admitted, suddenly feeling dread. He was going to tell me something I didn’t want to hear.  

“She may just have been having an episode of excitability,” he explained gently. “That’s what it’s called, I don’t mean like jumping for joy excitement. I mean that she was more responsive than usual. I’m thrilled to hear she was interactive today, but that isn’t the norm,” he said. 

I felt my soul invert with sorrow at his words. 

He continued.

“I can only hope in time that she becomes more reactive. She still responds well to her medication, but I do know it makes her quieter. Based on her last evaluation, we were thinking of taking steps to reduce her dosages and see if she comes back to a more normal state of being, such as talking and moving more. Though, that does also bring the risk of her experiencing more anxiety, seizures, and possibly even hallucinations once more. It’s a delicate balancing act,” he said, trying his best to sound reassuring.

It only made me want to punch him square in the face. I felt so angry. I remained silent. Jasper did as well. 

“I was going to discuss this possibility with your father the next time he is able to come in,” he continued, his genial smile on his face. “Don’t lose hope. Mei still has a fighting chance. She has done very well here.”

I swallowed hard. 

“Do you think she’ll be able to come home?” 

Dr. Orstol and I turned, surprised. Jasper was staring at the floor intently, his hands trembling at his sides.

“Of course I do, Jasper,” Dr. Orstol said, his voice lilting. “Your mother is a very strong woman. I know that I said she is rarely responsive, but what I can tell you is that when we show her the pictures you gave us of you as children and of your parents’ wedding day, she does show signs of recognition nearly every time, even if it takes longer for her to do so,” he said. He laid a hand on Jasper’s shoulder. “She won’t forget you. I don’t doubt that, with treatment and time, she will return home and be able to manage her symptoms. For now, she’s making slow progress. Some days it’s worse, other days it’s better, but progress is progress. Even a step backward is still a step. She’s not frozen. I have faith in her recovery.”

Jasper nodded, keeping his eyes on the floor. Dr. Orstol released his shoulder and smiled back at me. 

“I hope you two have a wonderful rest of your day. Come back soon, okay?” he said, nodding at us both before moving on to his next task. 

I stood rooted to my spot as he departed, and took a shaky breath.

I have faith in her recovery. 

Faith.

Why did it feel so impossible to have it for myself? 

I glanced over at Jasper, who looked like he was going to hyperventilate and break down at any second, his body trembling.

“Come on, Jas,” I murmured, gently taking his hand. He wrenched it out of my grip and began walking, pushing past me. 

I watched him hurriedly make his way out of the sliding doors and out of sight, and I picked up my pace, shooting the receptionist a fake smile as I pursued my brother. 

When I exited the doors and blinked as my eyes adjusted to the assaulting brightness of the sunshine, I saw he was past the parking lot and practically sprinting down the lawn and towards the fence that separated the care facility’s property from the ranch’s. Some of the horses near the fence picked up their heads and pricked their ears as he ran past, while some spooked and cantered off and away. 

“Jasper!” I yelled, feeling a sharp stab of panic in my chest.

Where the hell is he going? 

I took off after him, running as fast as I could, my shorter legs pumping. 

I was still a good distance away when he finally slid to a stop in the grass, tilted his head back towards the sky, and screamed. 

I halted in my tracks, and stood, panting for breath as he sank down to the earth and curled up on himself. 

Holy shit, I thought, forcing my feet to move.

I jogged up to my little brother, who had his head in his hands, his knees tucked to his chest. 

“Oh my God, Jasper,” I breathed, dropping down beside him. 

He was sobbing once more, this time full, body-shaking trembles. 

“Jas, Jas, it’s okay,” I whispered, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him to my chest. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” he choked, desperately grabbing at my shirt, tugging on it. “No, it’s not. She’s not okay,” he cried, burying his face in my chest.

“What do you mean? She recognized you, didn’t she?” I said, holding him close. 

“Didn’t you hear him? It was just a fluke. She might have just been recalling a memory or something. She might have not even actually known we were there,” he howled. 

“What makes you think that?” I asked, trying to rub his back and calm him down. “Didn’t you see the way she looked at you? How she petted your hair? She knew you were there, Jas. She knew, I swear.” 

Jasper just shook his head as another sob overtook his tongue, and he leaned into me, almost knocking me over. I braced myself and continued to hold him, grazing my hand over his back.

“What if I get it?” he suddenly whispered, his voice full of fear

I froze. 

“What?”

“What if I go schizo, too?” he said quietly. “I’ve been doing research.”

“Why do you think you would get it?” I breathed, trying to look him in the eye. 

“I don't know,” he spoke, his voice wobbling. “I’m so scared. It worries me all the time. I have nightmares, Jade,” he whispered. “I look so much like her. Sometimes I dream we’re staring at each other through a mirror, copies of each other. Mute clones. I can’t scream. All I can do is stare as she tries to tell me how much pain she’s in. She can’t speak, but I can hear her thoughts. She’s asking me to save her. She says she’s so alone and afraid, that she wants to come home. She wants dad to love her, she wants us back. I don’t know, I don’t know, I’m scared,” he choked out, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

I listened, my heart torn asunder by his words. God, that sounds absolutely terrifying. 

“I don’t think you’ll get it, Jas,” I whispered, hugging him as tight as I could. “You’re going to be okay. Mom’s going to be okay. I know it, I feel it. She was different today. She knew who we were, I swear it. She looked so happy when you were in her lap. Look,” I said, wrestling my phone out and showing him the picture.

He looked up and stared at my phone quietly for a minute or so. He took it from my hand and put it closer to his face, scrutinizing every inch of the image.

Then, a ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

“Do you really think so?” he murmured, tears still streaming down his face. “You think she’ll get better?”

I smiled softly and snuggled him into me.

“I do. I really do, Jas. I mean that with all of my heart.”

We sat there for a little longer as Jasper calmed down. A couple of the horses watched us curiously from the fence, and I giggled at their inquisitive expressions. Jasper finally untangled himself from me and slowly stood, and I followed suit. We made our way back to the car, taking our time, slowly meandering through the grass and talking to the horses, who walked along the fence with us. 

When we were finally back inside and buckled up, Jasper collapsed against his seat. Within ten minutes of heading home, he was asleep. 

I smiled softly and drove with extra care up the windy mountain road, up back to home. The spring day was beautiful, the sky practically cloudless, and flowers swayed lightly in the breeze as they grew by the roadside.

When we got home about two hours later, I gently shook Jasper awake. I was surprised to see that my dad’s black Jeep was in the driveway. I swallowed nervously as Jasper blinked awake, letting out a light groan. We exited the car and made our way inside, finding our dad sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee and talking on the phone. 

“If you think that’s best, then let’s go through with it,” he said, his voice low and sounding twinged with exhaustion. “I really just-” he cut himself off when he noticed us standing there. A light smile came to his face. “Looks like they just got home. I’m gonna talk with them. Can I get back to you tomorrow?” He listened briefly before thanking whoever was on the line and ending the call. He put his phone down and rose, coming towards us with outstretched arms. 

“Hey there,” he said gently, embracing us both. 

Jasper didn’t even fight. Neither did I.

“How did it go?” dad murmured, holding us close. 

“You know,” I answered, my voice slightly muffled due my mouth being buried in my dad’s stomach. I was too small for my own good.

He laughed lightly and released us, putting his hands on our shoulders. His glassy blue eyes glimmered, his smile-wrinkles prominent. 

“I might, but I want to hear it from you two,” he said gently, leading us to the kitchen. 

He had been on the phone with Dr. Orstol, discussing what he had told us for mom. Lessening her dosages, adjusting her schedule, seeing if she had the motivation to speak, move, and do more on her own. I shared what had happened, how she had seemed to truly recognize us, how she had called us by our nicknames. Jasper remained silent, except for his eyes shining with tears at my mention of that. My dad had reached out and ruffled his hair, and Jasper had gone back to remaining stoic. No tears in front of dad. 

“Well, I think it’s a good idea, then,” he finally said, smiling at us both. “I really believe she’ll improve. And if not, like Dr. Orstol just told me, even a step backward-”

“Is still a step,” I murmured. 

My dad looked surprised, then broke out into a beaming smile.

“Is still a step,” he affirmed, getting up once more.

He came around the table and hugged us each. He took more time with me.

“I’m proud of you, Jade,” he barely whispered in my ear.

It made my heart swell with joy, and coated my hope in armor.

Things could get better. 

They really could. 

♥

Image source: Given by Natsuki Kizu