Going
Home to Say Goodbye
I
pulled into my Mother's driveway; my heart was heavy and my eyes
stung with tears. It was a cold, spring day; the sky
was leaded grey,
with a continuous soft drizzle as though the weather wept
in sympathy with me.
I,
along with my family,
had
just said farewell
to my Mother.
After the funeral, I took
my wife aside.
"Teresa,"
I said.
"I just can't face everyone now. My goodbye doesn't feel
complete. I'm going home for a while."
Looking
at me compassionately,
she embraced me.
"Of course, Jimmy. Take all the time you need," she
whispered into my ear. Squeezing
her hand, I
left the cemetery
and drove home:
my childhood
home.
With
a sigh, I looked at the small cottage I was raised in. My eyes rested
on the bench in the front yard. With a pang in my chest, memories of
sitting there,
on my Mother's lap in the sunshine, flooded my mind.
Her
strong, beautiful voice sounded
in my ear as she sang a ballad to me. I could smell the faint scent
of her perfume and felt
her gentle caress as she ran her fingers through my hair.
I
shook my head in despair as I walked to the front porch, bracing
against a gust of wind and rain. I unlocked and opened the door,
quickly closing it against the elements.
"Mammy.
It's Jimmy..." I yelled, the words dying in my throat. She
wasn't there to hear me. My breath
caught. My involuntary
greeting stirred
up the hurt in my heart.
I looked around at the familiar hallway with new eyes. The same
pictures on the wall,
but
now the house was
cold, quiet and lifeless.
Hesitantly,
I opened the kitchen door and stepped into a bright and warm room.
The air was humid from the burbling slow boil of the kettle as it sat
on the range; the smell of baking bread making my stomach grumble. My
Mother's thin,
frail figure stood at the kitchen sink.
She
faced me as she
wiped her aged hands on a tea towel. Her wizened face broke into a
welcoming smile.
"Ah,
Jimmy. Come in and have a cup of tea with me."
Wistfully,
I looked over at the kitchen table. Two
cups and saucers were laid out in expectation of my arrival, a
routine we had settled into. Every day after work, I visited her and
we shared a cup of tea; a few minutes of solace in an otherwise
frenetic
life. She lived alone,
her
fierce independence displaying
a strength of character that remained despite her dwindling health.
I
sat in my usual seat,
watching her as
she poured my tea, and then hers. She sat down
and took a sip of
her tea.
The
shake in her grip caused the Delph to rattle, as she replaced the
delicate cup on its saucer. She folded her hands on the table, looked
across at me and smiled.
"Now
Jimmy. Tell me about your day."
"Today
was a hard day, Mammy. We had your funeral and so many people were
there. It was a beautiful service.
Each of us took
turns to share our
memories of you. I
knew this day would come, but it's so hard to say goodbye. "
She
reached across the table and gripped my hand in her own. "Jimmy.
I miss you too. But it's only for a short while."
I
wiped at a tear that had started to run down my cheek. "There
are so many things I never got to say to you. Now that I have my own
children, I understand why you were so strict. I'm sorry..."
"Jimmy!"
she said, as she tightened her grip on my hand. "It's alright. I
understand. Wasn't I a child once?
Let it go and let me go. You have Teresa and the children,
my grandchildren. Live your life." She smiled and took another
sip of her tea.
I
glanced down and lifted the
cup to my lips. It
was cold and empty. I looked back up to my mother.
She was
not there. The
kitchen,
sat in a
gloomy light
and a musty smell
hung in the air.
A chill had
penetrated the room,
the fire
in the range
having
gone
out five days
ago. There was no
welcome. I was an intruder in an abandoned house. I set the cup back
down on its saucer and slowly got up from the table.
"Goodbye
Mammy," I said, for the last time.
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