Tuesday, November 6, 2012
I look at her eighty-nine year old face and see the same smile - the one in the black and white wedding portrait - her gown a silky cloud around her feet. Some things are ageless.....
I knock loudly, knowing she will not hear, and call out to her as I walk toward the living room. My arms are full of my sewing project - a couple of pillows to set off the new quilt. Although this is not the house of my childhood, it is still like coming home. For a few hours, I'm not the responsible adult - I am a loved child. There is such comfort in being "kiddo."
She is seated on the couch, her books and handwork spread out around her. I lean in to kiss her soft cheek. She is eager to get busy on my pillows so we slowly make our way to her sewing room. I walk behind her and my heart hurts a little at the sight of the bent back, the slow gait. She often bemoans her inability to do the things she used to do. I am just thankful she is here.
We work together - mother and daughter, teacher and pupil. She has taught me so much - so many intangibles. Conversation has always flowed so easily, punctuated with laughter - and sometimes tears.
She sits while I look through a box of lace she has collected over the years. It is difficult for her to stand for any length of time.
Footsteps sound in the living room. Dad is home from dialysis. He peeks around the door, "I knew I'd find you here." She smiles the beautiful smile as he comes toward her to give her a kiss.
And my heart stores the memories and I am thankful for this day.