mother and child

Two days before he died, Mama came into my old room where I was preparing to change my son's clothes. She quietly approached the bed where Nicholas was sitting and she instinctively put Nicholas' small hands in hers and playfully lifted them up over his head so I could slip his shirt off. She even made that "Whoop" sound and it made Nicholas giggle as he was momentarily hidden inside the dark world of soft cotton cloth. Mama greeted her grandson with a wide smile as he emerged bare chested from his solitary, dark world. I plopped down on the other twin bed and watched my mother's hands take over weaving and threading the two year old's body parts in and out of sleeves, pant legs and shoes until he was expertly and happily dressed.

Nicholas turned on his belly and slid down the side of the bed, shaking his feet until they found solid ground. He turned flashing a big grin with squinting eyes and declared, "Bye Bye!" and ran straight legged with arms pumping out of the lavender colored bedroom from my childhood. Mama watched him disappear beyond the door and listened to his quick, small footsteps knocking on the hardwood floor. He wasted no time searching for his brother and sisters who were playing int he kitchen.

Slowly, almost thoughtfully, her knees bent. She eased herself onto the floor. I fought the urge to scoop her up in my arms. My hands began twisting so I grabbed fists of the pretty bedspread to keep them steady. There were no words to say. No comfort to offer. There was no way I could promise everything would be OK even though I wanted to say it any way.

Mama cried a little bit. Not for long. Just a few tears and a few stumbling noises from her throat. She cleared them away. As her hand swept across her mouth, she firmly said,

"I would like for you not to stay very long today."

I had been waiting for Daddy to wake up from his nap so I could have a one on one conversation with him. I had been waiting so long. There were always other people in the way. Friends, family, phone calls, work, even my own children. my hands let go of the bedspread and I pleaded with my mother.

"I have shared Daddy with the whole world for my whole life. I want to stay."

Her cool, steel blue eyes searched mine until they hooked in understanding. It is the same way I do with my children before I tell them something important so they will realize it's for their own good even if I know they will be mad or disappointed. The language between a mother and her child is only half spoken in words. The words that followed stung me, but the hook from her eyes...the soft pleading for understanding was all I needed.

"Abigail, when your father dies, you will still have your husband and your children. I will be alone. I need this time to me mine."

Tears burst through the wall at the back of my mouth and I fell more deeply in love with the frail, beautiful, crumbled woman on the floor. As if instructed, I nodded my head and offered my hand to her as I eased myself off the bed. She looked at the floor and brought her knees to her chin. She placed her hands on either side of her and gracefully rose to her feet. Either years of ballet or her more recent study of yoga made her able to move to easily from the floor. She is deceptively strong from such a tiny woman. She did not need my hand so I let it fall to my side.
We didn't speak but went straight into action gathering up all the things a mother must bring for her five children when visiting grandparents. Mama and I hurried about dropping diapers, clothes, toys and snacks into the bottomless pit of a bag.