I closed my eyes in relief, even if it was the smallest sliver of peace in an ocean of terror. Then I stood, every muscle screaming in protest, and walked out of the ICU toward the family waiting area. And there she was, my mother in her designer coat, her hair perfectly coiffed as if she were going to a brunch, tapping an impatient foot on the polished floor. No tears, no fear, nothing on her face but a pinched impatience, as if I’d been late to a PTA meeting.