I'm here

So here I sit: in a house that seems too large, too quiet. Just a short while ago, it was brimming and bustling. Activity, concern, requirement, love, disappointment, desire. It was not all it could have been.
My house is not the clean, organized efficient thing it was a little over a month ago. And that previous evaluation is questionable now. Little things we ignored became frustrations. Big things we dealt with became impedance or reroute. Nothing really went as planned. Yet, I would not undo it now if I could.
The third week into my busy, my mother was here. To be sure, her visit was affected by the rain, but the truth is she’s slowing down quickly. She will be 90 in September and for the first time, I am considering the fact that her time is concluding. Her perception is hampered, her body is shaky, her mind is –unstable. It has occurred to me in the past few days that one day in a not distant future, I’ll receive a call. I’ll hurry a few things into my car and, with or without my husband, rush off down a road familiar yet strange to sit or stand at her bedside.
I’ll no doubt think of the busy times when I only saw her as a result of furious planning and quick short visits related to a holiday or birthday or some serious breakdown. I’ll probably remember those times when I promised and couldn’t deliver. I’ll remember the times she and my dad took up the slack in the lean times. I’ll also remember looking into her vibrant blue eyes sparking with excitement and hope. I’ll remember combing her long blonde hair and waiting impatiently for dresses that were never quite finished but were worn anyway. I’ll remember camping and Christmas and the house my parents built but didn’t get to live in.
I’ll remember love and joy and help and pain and anger and sorrow –those things that make up life and relationships. I’ll wish for summer of 2006 when we laughed and talked and played and developed a little of the relationship we both wanted and never had. It’s a long drive with lots of time to think.
I’ll probably run into her room amid others who had a shorter ride and call out, “Mom I here.” I’ll probably see her intense blue eyes mist and fix for a moment on me and then I’ll sit with the others and talk of days and times and nonsense while we wait.
Our relationship has been a curious thing. I’ve never felt truly accepted by my mother, though I did feel loved. Even if she had any reason for pride in me, she would never have admitted it. In fact she still won’t. She probably says those words to others. Maybe it’s a sense of competition. Perhaps owning my piddling successes would have made her feel her own losses more acutely. I can’t say I understand, I only try to justify the rejection with the love.
I will remember that at times I was selfish and didn’t go just because I didn’t want to face her. I’ll understand that when things were critical, I did go. I’ll see ways I could have made her life sweeter, calmer. I’ll also see the times I tried to place myself in the gap for mom and dad both. I’ll recall angry words and desperate prayers. I may remember firmly insisting that she stop thinking her own thought and listen. I’ll remember telling her that I know she is strong and spiritual. I’ll hear myself saying “I’m not trying to instruct or change your belief. I want you simply to know me and understand if only for a moment.” I’ll see her eyes drop their veil for a short time as I try desperately to explain what I mean and why it’s important to me.
Yet on that day, the time for reconciliation will be past. “I love you,” will be the only important words. Tenderness and compassion will be the only valid emotions. I only pray she will hear and accept when that time comes.
And just as I see myself standing there, sitting there, I see myself lying there listening for the last child to say “Mom, I’m here.”