Firstliners

A Moment of Clarity

Sometimes I forget. Some memories just aren’t there anymore. When I do remember, when something pops into my mind, I know what it is I have to say – want to say – but my mouth won’t form the words. So I just sit here; letting them talk. They look hopefully at me; waiting for a glimmer of recognition. I look thoughtfully, wanting to remember, but I don’t know them; so I look out the window.

Years ago – when we were a couple, when we lived together, loved each other, shared our lives – we had a home: it was a small three bedroom apartment with a den in the center of town with a view over the river. Sunday mornings after a light breakfast we would sit on the balcony. I would sip my coffee while he read the paper, or sometimes we would just hold hands watching the water flow majestically by.

At times we would go to far off places; just him and me on an adventure. We went to exotic places; well at least they were exotic to this small-town country bumpkin. But that stopped when we decided to raise his two children – Amber and Cole – from his previous marriage. People told us we should move, that our place was far too small for four people, but we didn’t; we loved that place. There was a lot of love there. When we decided to raise the kids the big trips ended.

Years later, long after the kids where grown, he became sick. When he went into the hospital, the hospital policy stated ‘family only’. His parents and siblings didn’t approve of our relationship – we never married, we were never given the opportunity to do so – they tried to keep me away from him. After his operation I brought him home, nursing him through the chemo. When, after four months, he went into remission, we decided to take another trip in the coming year: one last adventure. Japan was beautiful that spring. The air weighted with the fragrance of the Cherry Blossoms. The countryside was wide with the green of bamboo and tea. The people were friendly and kind. But when we returned, so did the cancer.

This time he was too sick to stay at home; he went into a nursing home. His siblings kept me from seeing him. When he died I was not allowed to attend the funeral. Later, at the gravesite, when I said my goodbyes, kneeling lonely in the freshly turned soil, I remember his kids approaching me. They must have been waiting for me. I sat my arrangement of flowers – Cherry Blossoms, Yellow Chrysanthemums and Japanese Apricot – on the grave and wept. Amber rubbed my shoulder; expressing her sympathy. Cole stood stonily several feet away.

Today I’m reminded of Cole’s aloofness, leaning against the doorsill as he is: not in the room, but not willing to be outside either.  Amber sitting before me, hoping for some sign of recognition; they were never my kids really. But I loved them as such. I still do, though I can’t say; even though I want to. But their father and I never married: could have never married. Cole never thought of me as anything more than a friend of his father’s: A roommate. Oh, the kids knew that their father and I were in a relationship. What I learned for sure that day at the gravesite was something I guess I always known: Cole had never accepted my relationship with his father.

I looked at Cole and smiled. Cole seemed startled.

“I told you he would recognize us,” Amber said excitedly.

“A smile doesn’t mean he recognizes me Amber. He could have gas.” Cole said.

I heard the sarcasm in his voice; I let the smile fall from my face turning again toward the window. Today, because I still love his father so deeply, I’ll let it go.

“I think it does,” Amber said, the hope in her voice hurt.

I looked at the woman before me. Her smile was so hopeful, but my memory of her was receding; I could not stop it. Cole entered the room sitting on the bed. We sat there looking at each other, not talking: me unable to, she at an apparent loss for words, Cole unwilling.

“We are his only family Cole,” Amber said.

“We aren’t his family, Amber. He’s just a friend of our dead father,” Cole said.

“He is our responsibility,” Amber said, heatedly.

“We’ve already had this discussion, he is not our responsibility. If you want to continue paying for his care, be my guest. But, I’m not paying for anything. Let the state care for him,” Cole said without compassion.

“How can you be so callous? This man raised us. He was there for us when we needed him. He cared for our father when our father was sick,” Amber stood, towering over the sitting Cole.

“You are just an emotional fool for sad cases; and that’s fine. Just don’t ask me to fund your poor judgment,” Cole said glaring up at her.

Her hand was quick. The sound of the connection with Cole’s face cracked through the room; I jumped.  Cole stood and stomped out of the room. Amber looked back at me, placing a hand tenderly on my face, and said, “I won’t let them take you to a state facility. I can’t afford this place, so I will take you home with me.”

I smiled, though for some reason I couldn’t place the nice woman’s face. She looked familiar, but I didn’t think that I knew her. I turned to look out the window. There was something that I should be doing; what was it? I can’t remember. I heard footsteps, so I turned to see who had come into my room. Someone was leaving. I wonder who that was? Why would they just come into my room and then just turn around and leave? How rude.