Sweet Memories

From Mom:

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That Saturday we awoke to one of those bright, clean, warm days of Spring. Our eloquent reward for surviving the dreariness of winter. She looked like Thumbelina, propped up in her huge bed surrounded by pillows. The cat sat curled beside her almost lost in a valley of quilts. She had made it to Easter Saturday.

She decided to celebrate by inviting all the neighborhood kids in for candy. Our house rang with the chaos only teenagers could bring. It quieted as she got weaker. For all their self involvement, they intuitively grew quieter, gentler in the presence of one so close to heaven. Her illness had not kept them from the house, the boisterousness just became humming sounds.

This fiery little woman had been their defender. Her pony tail swished incessantly as she chastised local law enforcers who found their way to our driveway. “Of course there isn’t a motorcycle in this driveway!” She would spit indignantly. “These children haven’t driven a motorcycle. If they had it wouldn’t be in the street!” The “children”, tousled teenagers, stood behind this little dynamo assuming looks of supreme innocence their faces hadn’t seen since birth. But these were her children, flesh or not, and no one would torment them in her yard. They responded to her protectiveness with a like emotion. Their age and self consciousness enabled their adoration only to be shown by their presence and in their open acceptance of the things she offered. She loved to watch them eat, so voraciously and with such pleasure. Our refrigerator stockpiled with milk, juices, sandwich making, and always goodies from her adored Hinkles Bakery. The youngsters grazed in the kitchen all day and as long in the evenings as their parents would allow.

She gained a self confidence in her dying never visible in life. Perhaps she knew the importance of the gift she was so valiantly sharing with all of us. She never spoke a word about her imminent death, but showed us, in these last days, how to live. That Saturday morning she called us into the bedroom and told us of her plan about the candy. She was an expert on sweets and knew exactly what candy eggs she wanted for the youngsters. Armed with her instructions, my sister left to begin her search. The eggs my mother envisioned were hard to find. At this late date most candy stored had emptied their shelves. But after numerous and creative stops, my sister had two bags full of chocolate covered Easter eggs.

Our mother prepared herself, like a queen to receive her subjects. She worried that her appearance would alarm her young friends. She had reached that gaunt stage where, with a shock, you realize a skeleton is watching you. Her dry and taut skin stretched over her facial bones like tissue paper. But her brown eyes, made huge by the shrinking of her body, flashed with an alertness and determination that dared the cancer to take her. So, rosy cheeks and pink lips hid her pallor, and mascara accentuated her expressive eyes. As soon as work slipped around, the parade of young friends began. Her Siamese watched the procession from a position of power. Her blue eyes assumed the gaze of one watching earthlings being presented to her Celestial Being. My mother knew the extracurricular activities of some of the children. When a member of the school play came by, she asked her to sing. A little flustered, the girl replied, “Nana, I don’t have any music.” Nana responded, “You don’t need music, my dear, you are the music.” Time stopped for a few minutes while the young voice filled the room with melodies from The King and I. The room echoed with all the, “Thank you, Nana’s” after the young ones were gone.

Mom reached behind her and proudly showed us two eggs she had secreted under her pillow. We got some foil so she could keep her treasure close to her without a mess. She didn’t seem to mind her lack of appetite, but she wanted her precious candy close in case her body allowed her to take one more tasty treat. Next morning we found her breathing heavily. We sat, my sister and I, on each side of her with her clutched hands resting in ours. When her breathing stopped, her right hand lifted and reached out. She left us, accepting the hand that welcomed her into a new dimension of life. We remained with her hands in ours saying farewell to our cherished mother. We hadn’t the heart to remove the chocolate eggs embraced in her hands.

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