The light filtered through the bay windows as I cleaned the table. It was a small breakfast table-the kind which allowed for intimacy. It was centered in the garden room where the early morning light was the best. I can still hear the clink of the glassware and the silver as the table was set. It seated four, a round glass table top with beveled edges and four English antique chairs.
Looking at these chairs sure brought back a flood of memories. My daughter had fallen backwards on one-the back of the chair saving her head and a trip to the emergency room. Mom could only yell about how expensive the chair was. She was still yelling when my 2 year old offered up her savings-at the time- two pennies. Tears welled up in my eyes at the memory. The look on her face was just heart-breaking as tears rolled down her small face. Still Mom yelled about the cost of repair as she looked at her grand-daughter’s welling eyes. I remember holding her small body and just giving my Mother a look of incredibility. That memory still burns with pain. How can she be so inconsiderate-so mean!
Shaking my head loose from the past, I continued to clean the table, moving the antique lace runner where a glass red apple rested-another memory intruded. Dad was laughing at some stupid joke he made-his laughter bouncing off the high ceiling. I smiled at that as I remember that conversation. We were arguing about how the ceiling was going to be fixed. I knew we needed to get someone younger to climb but no-he insisted on doing the work himself. He had crawled into the small attic-really more like a crawlspace-and became stuck! I was laughing so hard and so was he until we realized that if we could not get him unstuck-the fire department would! Then the ceiling really would have a huge hole! Finally the laughter stopped as he started to pass out-it was hot that day and the space he was in did not have air-conditioning. He finally managed to get himself loose and crawl out. He looked a mess! Our eyes met and all we could do was laugh our heads off. Smiling to myself-it was one of those things that you really had to be there for. It was a memory shared only between Dad and me.
I wish Mom could have been there-maybe she would not be so bitter now. He was so different with me. Well-maybe that was the problem between her and me.
I sat down for a moment in his chair-funny how it will always be his chair. Before me flashed my last conversation with my mother as we shared a meal. It ended badly that day. She was really on a roll. As much as I tried to be cordial-nothing satisfied her. I guess the last trigger was when I shared a religious observation-one she did not agree with-which brought forth that last tirade. She just did not want to be stopped. Her words just gather speed. Like a rock gathering moss as it rolls downhill-they became filled with vile and hate. Her face contorted into someone I did not know. Truth be known-I really did not know her. I tried to understand her but she was never easy. She was a riddle to me. Her verbal attack continued. She just let it out on the only person there-me. She did not know I knew how her marriage started-how many times she would berate Dad. She did not know of my silent tears when he was close to his end-how I heard her cruelty with him. She called me irresponsible and immoral-I knew it was not true. I took it-painful stab after painful stab-I took it all. She wanted to see me break-I did not give her the satisfaction.
The next day she did not wake at her usual hour. Her bedroom door remained closed. Finally I entered after not receiving any answer to my knock. I found her in the bathroom-her final end was one of nature’s call-not in a graceful situation. I cleaned her body up and made sure she was presentable. Even in death, I could not let her be seen in a bad light. Her eyes were now in their grey color-the color she gets when she is tired. Her skin was now cold-rigor had set in.
I sat with her until the paramedics arrived to pronounce her dead. As per her wishes-her body was taken directly to the mortuary and then to the crematorium. She did not want any mourners. She died alone-as she always verbalized. I wonder if she regretted that decision at all. I wonder if she ever found peace. In the end, it was dark for her. She never saw another sunrise.
A single tear rolls down my face as regrets rack my body. Closing my eyes I see her before me-only this time smiling and happy. I guess I have my answer to my question about her. Beside her is Dad-lovingly holding her hand-she was now at peace as her meanness had disappeared. I guess what she needed was his love to herself. Even her children were a challenge. They both walk away-leaving me alone. Opening my eyes, I finish with the cleaning.
I take one last look around at the home I have known all my life. What few regrets I have had in my life-I leave them here. The house is now a mausoleum of memories. Leaving the keys in the front foyer, I leave the house to start my own life away from here. The realtor will be here soon enough.
© 2010 6 august/cb
