When my mother got depressed

She could not get out of bed

She just laid there like a lox

Refused to eat

She thought she had cancer

She knew she was dying, that’s how bad she felt

Even came to terms with imminent death

When the doctor told her she was fine

She snarled at him

Unbelieving.

He showed her the tests, the x-rays, the labs

Oh she said reluctantly

The doctor suggested a psychiatrist who in turn

Suggested a chemical imbalance in my mother’s brain

Caused her lack of vigor

He recommended a pill to take

Together with a course of psychotherapy.

So she got out of bed

And resumed eating

After a few months of weekly visits to the psychiatrist

In which she made up stories and never revealed a truth

(I lie to him, she told me)

She declared herself cured.

But for the next thirty years she took the pill

Just to make sure her brain stayed okay.