You know when you get that call, the one you’ve been dreading, but also kinda expecting? Like it’s been hovering there in the background of every conversation you’ve had for the last… I don't know, year? Two years? Anyway, I got it today, and it was my brother, and he just said, real flat, "Mom fell again." And immediately your mind just goes there, to the floor, and her, crumpled, probably in that little hallway by the bathroom, because that's where she always falls, isn't it? And you just picture it, the whole scene, and you’re hundreds of miles away, sitting here by the beach, and the sun’s just setting, all pink and orange, and you’re looking at the ocean and it’s just so beautiful and calm and you just feel this… disconnect, like you’re watching someone else’s life from inside your own, and it’s REALLY weird, actually. Because it should HURT more, right? But it’s just… a feeling, a dull throb, like a toothache that’s always there but you mostly ignore it until something makes you remember. And then he tells you she’s okay, mostly, a bump on the head, but she's just… wobbly, he said. Wobbly. And you think about how she sounds on the phone, sometimes, a bit slower, a bit… thinner, like her voice is stretched out, and you try to remember the last time you saw her, really saw her, not just on a video call, and it was Christmas, I think? Yeah, Christmas, and she seemed okay then, just a bit forgetful, but everyone gets that, right? And you’re sitting there and you’re a marketing manager, which sounds important, I guess, and you make decent money, and you chose this life, the coast, the sun, the career, and you knew it meant being far away, and you wanted it, and you still do, but then you get this call, and suddenly all those choices, they just… hit you, all at once, like a wave. And you think about how you told yourself it was for the best, that she had her independence, her friends, her routine, and you had yours, and it was FINE. But now it's not fine, is it? And you can hear the faint roar of the waves outside your window, and the wind chimes on the porch are tinkling, and it’s all so peaceful, and you’re thinking about her, probably hooked up to some monitoring thing, and you should probably call, but what do you even say? "Oh, Mom, glad you’re not broken this time"? It’s just… everything feels so heavy and light at the same time, and you know you’re supposed to do something, but what IS there to do, really, from this far away? And the guilt just sits there, a big, lumpy thing in your stomach, and you wonder if you’ll ever really get rid of it, or if it’s just part of the package now, you know? Like part of being a grown-up, a part of making your own path, and it just… is.