1.08.2010

You never forget your last.

I'd only planned on stopping by for a few minutes-- just long enough to drop off her plastic food containers and have some face time with my stepfather. They'd found spots on his tongue that day at the dentist's office. My arrival would show my support. The small unsaids go a long way. Most people don't realize that.

"Alright, ma. I gotta run." I'd considered leaving the truck running as an excuse, but decided not to dig that deep for a ticket home. "Kristen's waiting for me." Not entirely a lie, though she was quite fast asleep in my bed.

"Give me a hug. Thanks for coming by." She squeezed the backs of my arms. The look in her eye seemed to say "I'm the only one who still touches these who remembers them before they were covered in tattoos." Hell, even I don't sometimes.

"He'll be OK. It's probably nothing."

"Yeah. I know you say you don't Believe anymore, but..."

"I will."

It's hard to deny a woman a prayer, even for a lost soul. His father died of throat cancer. They say it's in the blood.

"You wanna run upstairs and say Hello to your grandmother before you go?"

Truthfully, I'd been avoiding it. The old lady was already tucked in at the late hour of six in the evening and her Alzheimer's caused us to have the same conversation every time we met. It was usually about food and my need to eat it while visiting. A Puerto Rican mother's primary concern is feeding her family, even when she's too old and senile to be trusted with the gas stove.

"I would, but I really gotta get going..."

She gave me a look while saying she understood, the two of them contradicting each other. I closed the front door gingerly behind me before coming to my senses. One never knows how many Hellos one has left when it comes to a person of ninety. I turned around and went back inside.

"I couldn't leave."

"Come on, I'll go upstairs with you," my mother said. "She'll be so happy to see you." That look in her eye recognized the son she'd raised regardless of the scars, self-inflicted or otherwise.

"Look who I have here, mom," my mother said as my grandma rolled over in bed to greet us. Her gown was soft and fuzzy like something you'd see in a hospital nursery. Life comes full-circle.

"Oh, my love!" she exclaimed in Spanish. "How good it is to see you. I was thinking of you today. Have you been staying safe at home?"

My mother and I looked at one another accusingly. This must be where the paranoid gene came from.

"Yes. Always." I bit my lip at the absurdity.

"Good, good. And how is your mother doing?" my grandma asked.

My mother, her daughter, glanced sideways at me. "Sad, isn't it?" she asked.

"Yeah," I said through a still mouth like a disheartened ventriloquist.

"Mom, this is my son. I'm his mother. Remember?"

"What? Really? But I raised him when he was little."

"Yes, you took care of him often, but he's mine."

The three of us laughed uncomfortably. It's hard to watch and harder to ignore the unraveling of a once-sharp mind.

"He has to get going now. His girlfriend is at home making dinner."

"Yes, he should go eat," my grandmother said with the severity of a subpoenaed minister.

"Goodbye, grandma. I love you."

"I love you, too," she said with a dentured smile.

My mother turned her bedroom light off before closing the door. The blue glow of the television shone under the door as we stood in the hallway for our debriefing.

"It was only a little lie to get you outta there. I know she's really sleeping."

"Thanks, mom." I said as I jostled down the stairs to leave. "I'll see you next week."

We say that with an unjustified confidence. One has to believe in something.

No comments: