In high school, I was my mom's caregiver. In university, I'm learning to let go

This First Person column is written by Madeline Buss, who lives in Vancouver. For more information about CBC's First Person stories, please see the FAQ.

I signed the lease for my first apartment 5,000 kilometres away from Mum. The same day, she was  transferred to the ICU.

I felt incredibly guilty; was I failing as a daughter?

Mum had been in and out of the hospital for most of that month. Still, even before that, she has had many medical challenges — multiple sclerosis, needing chemotherapy at age 16 to treat her bone cancer, depression and anxiety. The phone rang as I was leaving to sign the papers for my soon-to-be apartment. It was Mum, I presumed, to update me on the latest inedible meal she'd been served at the hospital. However, my stepfather had the phone. Odd. 

Hearing him utter the words, "Please sit down," terrified me. Hearing the words, "Mum's best option is a heart transplant," really terrified me. 

I was almost at the landlord's, so I shakily signed the lease papers, but I don't remember much else. I spent the afternoon staring out the window of my tiny dorm room in Vancouver. I spent the evening curled up in a passenger seat in near-complete silence as one of my friends tried to offer reassuring sentiments. My eyes welled up as we watched the sun fall away by the beach. 

I should have been at Mum's bedside in Cambridge, Ont. Why wasn't I there? 

For most of my childhood, I've been (mostly) affectionately called an "Old Soul" — someone who was always a little too mature for their age. I know I'm not special; in fact, many share this title. In my circle, it's often the tightly strung group of eldest daughters with orderly and habitual personalities. It sums up many of my characteristics, but what I always felt was missing from consideration was that I'd had an unconventional parental relationship. This isn't to say I have a poor relationship with my mother. In fact, Mum is the best person I know.

I spent so much of my teenage years terrified that the best person in my life wouldn't see me graduate high school, only to realize that once I had, I didn't have much to be proud of. Those years were spent in fear, on autopilot. Just before the COVID-19 pandemic, Mum's health hit a low point. She couldn't feel the left side of her body, couldn't walk more than a few metres, and couldn't drive. I was in Grade 10 at the time. I shopped for groceries, made dinners, and became a shoulder on which for her to lay her gripes with the world (fair enough). 

Making the decision to move across the country for university — to pursue a goal for no one other than myself — felt like I'd be abandoning the one person who gave me everything. My stepfather came into my life when I was in Grade 11. After confessing to him many of my subconscious worries about Mum and needing to be close to her while I went to university, he made it clear that it was not my job to make sure all the people in my life were well-off before I took any steps to care for myself. Had I remained in perpetual fear that Mum was knocking on death's door, living 30 minutes away from my childhood home, I'd be exactly the same person I was in high school: terrified. That's not living.

Having the capacity to care for those close to me is a skill of which I have no desire to be rid, but I've learned that this cycle of love and care is circular, not linear. People care for me just as much as I care for them. I just never gave them an opportunity. 

Mum has always been supportive of me. She's never wanted me to delay any of my dreams, and I know she would feel incredibly guilty if I had. That said, any decision I made regarding her health was beyond her control. Mum was happy when I decided to leave, but we recognized it would be an adjustment. Our relationship is as unconventional as ever, with the caveat that now our long chats happen over the phone and are more infrequent.

My stepfather takes care of her and shouldered a lot of the responsibilities I used to have. Seeing him take over has been tough to accept, but we got through my first year in Vancouver. 

When Mum was admitted to the ICU, I wanted to rush back, but with my summer internship, I could only make it three weeks later for a brief visit.