I feel like a really awful person for even thinking this, but… it’s been quieter. Like, a lot quieter since my mom died. And I know that sounds messed up, it probably IS messed up, but it's like a really loud buzz in my head just kinda turned off. For years, it was always something, you know? The doctor appointments, the bills, the meds she’d forget to take or just flat out refuse, and then it was my job to fix it all. Like, all the time. I was still doing homework in the kitchen while she was yelling at some insurance company on the phone, or crying about her legs hurting, and I’d have to like, pause my whole life to deal with whatever crisis was happening. It was just… heavy. All the time. And I know she couldn't help it, really. Her back was bad, then her legs, and then it was everything. She couldn't really walk much, mostly just shuffling around the apartment. And the stairs to get up to our place? Forget about it. So I was carrying all the groceries, cleaning up, making sure she ate something other than whatever she found in the back of the fridge. My friends would be like, "wanna hit the park?" or "there's a game tonight!" and I’d always have to be like, "nah, gotta help my mom." And they mostly understood, I guess, but after a while, they just stopped asking. It was just me and her, in our little apartment, the city noises outside feeling like a whole different world I couldn't even touch. The last few weeks before… before she died, it was super bad. She was sleeping all the time, or else she was awake and just really angry. Like, spitting mad at everything. At me for not knowing how to make her feel better, at the doctors for not curing her, at the world for being unfair. And I just kinda… became a ghost in my own house. I'd come home from school, do what I had to do, and then just disappear into my room, music blasting in my headphones so I couldn't hear her. I felt really guilty about it, like I was abandoning her even though I was literally RIGHT THERE. But I just couldn't take it anymore. It felt like being trapped underwater, and every breath was a struggle. Then, one morning, I woke up and the apartment was just… silent. Not just regular quiet, but a different kind of quiet. And I went into her room and she was just… gone. It was really sad, I cried a lot, still do sometimes. But then, after the funeral and all the stuff, there was this weird feeling. Like the air got lighter. Like I could finally take a really deep breath without all this weight on my chest. I can go to the library after school now. I can just walk around, listen to music, not worry about rushing home. It’s like all this space opened up, and I don't even know what to do with it. But it’s there. And I feel SO BAD about feeling relieved. Like I’m a monster for not being completely destroyed. But I’m not. I’m just… kinda breathing, for the first time in a long time. And that feels messed up to admit. REALLY messed up.