Memories For My Mom

Memories For My Mom. She smiles when she sees me, a half smile, the kind you give to someone that you can't quite recall. I know that she knows that I am familiar, that she should remember who I am, but it is clear that she can't quite place me. Conversations are one sided - me telling stories and making her laugh, her trying to interject something appropriate but more often than not saying things that don't quite make sense. I watch her slipping, sliding into a life that is only real at one moment in time because the past is like a faded photograph where you can't quite make out who's who and the future, well the future just no longer really matters. When I leave her, there in the unit with the locked doors and slight smell of urine, I know that she has enjoyed the time that we just spent together but that by the time I get to my car she will have forgotten. But I remember. "Drew! Tara!" I remember the scramble to get home asap once we heard the familiar call. You knew that we would be somewhere within the three block radius of our house and, well, your voice carried! We would tear into the house, breathless from our play and famished no matter what. Silence was the order of the day once we entered the house - dad was home from work and we had to be quiet. The smell of dinner wafted through the air; pork chops and potatoes and the brussle sprouts we would try to feed to Sam the dog under the table, but even she didn't like them. Everyone had a say at the dinner table. I remember talking about our day at school, sharing the trivial stories and happenings that seemed so important at the time. Dad would chime in once in a while with his own story or something he'd heard on the news. I remember feeling valued and safe. After dinner, Mash was on; your favourite show. You would try desperately to watch it on the TV in the Living Room while keeping one eye on Drew and I in the kitchen as we decided who was going to clean up and wash, and who was going to dry and put away the dishes. "Mom, he didn't get all of the food off of this plate!" "Did so!" he'd yell. We bickered about the silliest thing and you tried - but didn't always succeed - at keeping your cool while you played referee. For some reason when we were very young Drew and I didn't actually like to watch TV shows, we waited for the commercials. As you and dad snuggled together on the couch watching, well watching whatever it was you watched, Drew and I would yell "in between times" and come and tackle the two of you for a tickle fight and then watch the commercials in absolute fascination until the program came back on again. It's a miracle that you ever saw a program at all.... I don't remember bed time as much, other than fighting over who got to go in the bathroom first. Again, you would step in to play referee as Drew and I screamed back and forth, banging on the door in the back hallway, threatening to pee on the floor if we weren't allowed in. In the mornings Dad got up early, in solitude, to start his day with coffee and his newspaper. By the time I got up dad was gone and the three of us, you, me and Drew, would sit at the table eating our Cheerios (which we always added teaspoons of sugar to) and going over a spelling bee. I didn't know at the time that those spelling bees were to ensure that Drew got a better grade in English because he couldn't stand to be beat by his younger sister in spelling. I loved those mornings. And then, mom, I remember you sitting patiently on the front step with a brush in your hand waiting for the neighbour down the street to come and call on me for school. Every morning for I don't remember how long, you were there to ensure that her long hair was freshly brushed and that she had at least a piece of toast before heading off to school for the day. I didn't know for many years why you had to do that, but I remember that I was always glad that you did. That was just who you were. Mom, you can no longer remember those stories, those details of our young lives, so I will remember them for you. They formed us, they shaped us and we didn't turn out so bad. It all wasn't perfect - I recall the bad times, too, but good or bad, happy or sad, I will carry your memories until you need them no more.