When I pick her up she is carrying a large envelope she has made from newspaper.
"What do you have there Mom?"
"Flowers for your dad's grave." Just as I am about to tell her how sweet that is, she blurps out "Your brother sent me flowers for my birthday and I've enjoyed them for two weeks so I am going to put them on your dad's grave." I glance at the withering mums and wilted roses. I wonder what she sees that I am missing.
As we drive we talk about her favorite topics: the amount of traffic, the current status of her building that has been quarantined because of flu, and the clouds.
"Oh my look at all the traffic." I know before she even asks what comes next "Where are they all going?" It's not rhetorical. This is our conversation.
When we arrive, she is always impressed that I can remember how to find it. She removes the flowers and carefully puts them into the vase by my dad's headstone. She does that fake sobbing that makes us roll our eyes. And then she says "I'll be coming soon C to join you." She sounds so certain and sure of herelf. And with that, she turns and heads back to the car. I'm stunned and just a little bewildered. Is this a premonition? More of her drama?
We're quiet as we drive to our next errand: the farmer's market. She is stunned to see a pirate greeting everyone at the door. She still isn't connecting Hallowe'en to what people are doing around her. I ask if she wants her picture taken with the pirate. She totally does. Afterward, as we shop, I'm waiting for what will surely come next. Her commentary on how much everything costs and how much I buy. There is judgement in her voice. There is admonition not to be wasteful or extravagant. After all this is the woman who knows how to save a penny or two.
She is all smiles and happiness as I leave her off at her door. We are in the habit now of my leaning into her and her kissing me on the lips. She thanks me for the lovely outing and turning to go into her complex, waves that sweet little old lady wave.
We'll repeat this ritual again in a few days talking about the traffic, the clouds and the latest development in the quarantine. She will most likely coach my driving. It's not rocket science. It's not a conversation that sparks ideas. But it is all I have now with her.
Rage Used to Be Mother! Rage against the night!
3 comments:
I love these UTBM stories--especially that she put withered flowers on your father's grave.
I used to take my mother on drives which included the state capitol. Each week, she'd ask, "What's that?"
"The state capitol."
"I've never seen that before."
Riiiight.
UTBM is very blessed that she has her loving daughter with whom she can be herself. I am sorry that she is UTB, and I wonder what would have been my mother had she lived beyond 66 years. Ovarian Cancer. This life - no one gets out of it alive, and it can be pretty tough while we are in it. And then there is love and joy... and the sun comes up everyday - even though there are clouds, and traffic and quarantines. much love - K
I too love your UTBM posts. Funny and sad, I kind of hate that's it's not a fictional account. Will that be me someday? UTBChar
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