Who Said Life Was Easy?

The year is 1998, I was seven years old visiting my mother at a psychiatric hospital.

Cheap linoleum floor underneath her shoes. It didn’t even shine.
Clenching tightly to his hand, Nena looked up at her dad.
His face was serious.

But he wasn’t angry.

She knew when he was angry.
But right now she didn’t know what he was.

He didn’t even say where they were going when they left the house.
But she knew.
Her little heart beat fast, thumping vigorously against her chest.

They were going to see mommy.

Daddy knew where to go already, as if his legs had memorized the path.
He walked confidently.
But Nena watched the lady leading them anyway.
She didn’t look nice.
Nobody there did.

They eventually stepped into a room full of tables.
They sat at one with two chairs on either side facing each other.
They sat in one, Nena on her dad’s lap, pulling at her own pigtail.
And then she appeared.
Her heart leaped. Mommy!
But Nena didn’t move.
She didn’t run to her.
Even though she wanted to…
Fear gripped her frail body, she only squeezed her father’s hand tighter.

“Go say hi to mommy, Nena.” Her dad gave her a gentle push.

The small girl walked over to her mommy as she took the other empty chair.

“Hey, Barbie.” Mommy voice was flat.
A smile barely on her face.
Her eyes blank. Dismantled hair.

“Hi mommy.” Nena stood in front of her, fiddling her thumbs. She turned around and sat back down on her dad’s lap.

She wasn’t listening to what her parents were saying.
She only knew that mommy didn’t like it here.
When was mommy coming home?
And where were mommy’s shoes?