My brother took my mother to the countryside for August – “let her have a break from the apartment building.” On Thursday, my mother called from a neighbor’s phone: she had run out of blood pressure medication, and “Wojtek couldn’t be bothered because he was angry.” I dropped the medication off on Friday. My mother was waiting at the gate with a bag.
If I hadn’t left Łódź at 6 a.m. that Friday, I’d probably still be fooling myself that my mother was resting with Wojtek. That she was doing well. That my brother was taking care of her, as he promised.
But I left. And I saw what I didn’t want to see.
The idea of leaving came at the beginning of July. Wojtek called on a Sunday, which was strange in itself – he usually only called once a month, briefly and to the point. This time he spoke a lot. He said his mother was alone in that building on Retkinia Street, that it was hot, that it was the third floor without an elevator, that she could relax at his place in the countryside. August, a garden, fresh air.
