I Am My Own Knight In Shining Armor

Or: Part of what it's like to be a single woman and a caregiver.

Yes, honey. Plumage and all. Photo by Gio Bartlett on Unsplash

The night my mom died, I was alone.

My sister and brother-in law stayed the night in my mom’s house. During the day, we told family and friends about her passing. Everyone said the same thing: call us anytime. we’re here for you.

But late in the evening, I couldn’t fall asleep. I tossed and turned in bed. Eventually, I got up and walked into my mom’s room. The pale pink walls which had brought so much joy to my mom seemed empty and eerie because of her departure with death. The room felt different. She’d been sleeping in the hospital bed in the living room for the past few weeks. Her bedroom felt vacant, yet it had been so lived in for so long.

I sat on the brown leather recliner next to her bed, picked up a pink pillow with floral arrangements on it, and cried. The tears poured out of my eyes, and I pressed the pillow to my face. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I yell-cried. Meaning, I yelled into the pillow, wet with tears.

I slid from the recliner to the floor, the tile cool and refreshing against my skin. And then I had a thought: what if my cries wake up my sister and brother-in-law?

Part of me selfishly wanted to have my cries wake them up, to have them come into the room and check on me and comfort me.

And then I thought: no one is coming to save me.

And then I thought: I am my own knight in shining armor.

The Arms & Armour room has always been one of my favorite rooms in the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City. A must-visit if you’ve never been. Photo by Ember Navarro on Unsplash

My cries ebbed and flowed. The sounds began to die in my throat. All that remained after a period of time were sniffles, a face wet with tears, a runny nose, a wet pillow.

Eventually, I stood up. I left my mom’s room, the pink floral pillow tucked underneath my arm, and went back into my room. Eventually, I fell asleep.

I am single. I feel like the reality of being single while handling such life-changing, emotionally intense situations isn’t really brought up. I don’t have the comfort of someone who loves me telling me that everything will be all right—even if it may not feel true in the moment. I don’t have the comfort of being able to fall into another’s arms after a day of unpaid caregiving for my dying mom. I don’t have the comfort of falling asleep next to the sound of someone breathing next to me, the reassuring heartbeat beating away in their chest.

Instead, I am my own protector.

I am the guardian of my thoughts, my emotions, my darkest fears.

I can take care of my self.

And I know I’m going to be okay.

Madeline Wahl is a writer, solo traveler, and millennial caregiver to her mom, who recently passed from terminal cancer. Her writing has appeared on Reader's Digest, HuffPost, Red Magazine, and McSweeney's, among others. She is working on her first novel.