Fallen by Libby Hall I returned home around eleven p.m. and the light from Mom’s TV flickered in her darkened apartment attached to my house. I went into my house and then went over to turn off her TV. As I opened the door a blast of hot air greeted me. The temperature was well over 100 degrees. I couldn’t see Mom. A cursory glance indicated that she was not in the apartment. I panicked. Had she gone out? Was she lost? Wandering around Santa Fe confused and possibly in danger? Then in the dim glow of the television I saw her body face down on the Saltillo tiles. “Mom, Mom, can you hear me?” I turned off the gas heater. Sweat dripped into my eyes. “Mom...” She moaned. Her clothing was soaked from perspiration. How long had she lain there? It must have been hours. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom, soaked a washcloth in cold water and sat next to her on the tile. Her face pressed against the tile step in front of the gas fireplace. Did she fall attempting to turn it off? Was she hurt? She moaned louder as I mopped the side of her face and neck. Her sweatsoaked hair plastered to her skull. I tried to turn her but she was dead weight. “Mom, it’s okay, I’m here now. I’ll help you but I need you to roll onto your back.” She whimpered and remained motionless. “Mom, try. I’ll help you. Please,” I begged. “I can’t. I can’t. I can’t,” she said. I struggled to turn her upper body towards me so her back now rested against my thighs. I tried to pull her legs towards me but she cried out again. “I can’t. I can’t.” My mind raced. One impossible solution after another. Could I lift her, or drag her to her bed across the smooth tiles? It was now after midnight. I didn’t consider calling 911. I was afraid of being charged with elder abuse. A frail woman in her 80’s with dementia left alone for several hours. Hospice had put the fear of god into me on that one. Their accusatory question, “What if she falls and you aren’t here?” Well,
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