Friday

Her eyes. I couldn't stop looking at her eyes. They held a haunting familiarity that I couldn't quite place. She was in a green gown. 20. That's how many pills she remembers taking. Then I remember, I had met her just 5 days before, her daughter had a fever, 103. I had held her beautiful 10 month old baby girl in my arms, comforted her as she cried, smiled in response to her smile and watched her nuzzle into her mama as they spent half the night in the waiting room. And now, now she was barely alive and not sure she wanted to be. She told me about the long battle with depression, how it got worse after the baby was born, how she didn't tell anyone. She told me about her untreated schizophrenia. She told me she was scared and tired and wished she had died. She cried and apologized for crying, she was overwhelmed, being a mom was so hard, no one talks about mental health. And all I can see is the sweet smile of her baby girl, the way her hair fell on her face, the tiny fists that gripped her mama because she felt most safe with her. And I hope I can keep her mom safe, I hope I can say one right thing or that she feels safe again as her hand grips mine.