We Were Happy

There was a period sometime in the year 2013 when I decided I needed to take care of my mom. In January, we lost my father. I was still living in Texas and working part-time as an English instructor. Mom lived in a small, very rural, town in northwestern Pennsylvania. I couldn't imagine myself moving there but I thought perhaps there could be some compromise--to find a place closer to her other children and still close enough to Pennsylvania where she could visit if she chose. By spring of 2014, we had sold mom's house and moved her into an apartment with me just outside of Richmond, Virginia. The arrangement wasn't perfect but was as close to perfect as we could get. My sister closest to me in age lived literally five minutes away in the same neighborhood. My oldest sister was a two and a half hour drive to Maryland. My oldest brother lived in Virginia Beach--about a two hour drive. I have a brother who lives in Johnsonburg (our hometown in Pennsylvania) so now he was the farthest in distance. Mom was happy. I was happy. It was a good set-up.

As we settled into a new normal for both of us, I discovered--or should I say rediscovered--a long lost friendship with my mother. It wasn't only distance that had separated us for close to thirty years, it was a difference of opinion on many things and also a stubbornness on both our parts to remain intractable in our positions. The last several years had softened us and we were once again sharing an appreciation of our mutual spirituality across the miles. I was cautious but hopeful that we could continue this as roommates. My best expectations were far surpassed as we settled. I hadn't been this close to my mother since I was bordering teen hood.  It was a wonderful feeling...but we both knew it was occurring at the twilight of her life. She was 91 when we began our cohabitation.

We settled into a routine as I discovered how important routine was to mom's daily agenda. I so enjoyed bringing her coffee in the morning. She would often wake up with my gentle prod and ask "what time is it?" and I'd show her the alarm clock. She'd sigh and say that she's sleeping later and later each day. I would remind her that was pretty normal as you age. This went on the entire time she was with me. She would often have me take the coffee to her reading chair as she performed her daily ablutions in the restroom. There, waiting for her, was a stack of spiritual guidebooks and unfinished crossword puzzles. She would usually take about an hour while I prepared breakfast. Aside from the times we would veer from the usual, she would have her "red, white and blue" breakfast. Wheat toast with heavy butter, whatever cereal she requested (usually Special K or something similar) with skim milk, blueberries and strawberries and always 1/2 of a banana. I was quickly accustomed to how much she would eat. She never liked to waste food so it was important not to give her too much.

As weeks turned into months and it was just us (before I met my husband, Eduardo) we would often talk about our mutual morning meditations. These conversations were so rewarding. They are as much a gift to me now as they were at the time. Mom--at 91--was still searching and questioning but had a most steadfast faith. I learned so much from her.

After losing mom in January of this year, I went back to see all of the deleted messages on my phone. I just wanted to hear her voice. There were perhaps thirty or more.  After retrieving, I listened to each...and one after the other was her just asking me what time I'd be home from work. But there was one in which she told me that she'd had a "brainstorm" because I was planning on preparing a lemon cake and had complained that they were never moist enough. She suggested I stop at the store and get a package of lemon pudding. That message made me smile. The funny thing is I don't remember if I ever stopped to get the pudding. Her voice was so happy though. She was happy. I was happy. We were happy. I miss her so.

Thomas Boylan · Wewerehappy.WAV