When Help is Needed

“Need help.”

“Need HELP.” 

“NEED HELP!” she says.

I come downstairs, but am unsure what help my mother needs. She looks from the blue sofa which is wide and deep and slightly indented from where she sits when the television is on. 

This morning when she sees me, she speaks rapidly in Mandarin, one of three languages she knows, but the one I understand the least.

我不能起來 / Wǒ bù néng qǐ lái.

I cannot get up.

She raises her hand and it vibrates like a dried leaf anchored by a spider web in the air, held down imperceptibly by something I cannot see.

I can understand conversational Mandarin, but cannot speak it. I don’t know how to reassure her in Mandarin and I feel dumb and inadequate in the moment.

“I don’t understand Mandarin, can you tell me in Cantonese?”

我起唔到身 / ngo5 hei2 m4 dou2 san1

I cannot get up, she repeats, but this time in Cantonese.

Literally, it translates to “I cannot lift my body.”

“Do you need to go to the bathroom?” I ask.

She sits quietly and shakes her head. “I don’t know,” she replies. 

I can help her go to the bathroom, but that isn’t what she needs at the moment.

“Dad is next to you and if you need help, he’s there.” I say. 

She knows she needs help, but cannot tell me what kind of help she needs.

Maybe all she wants is to know that help is nearby.