On those teenage days when I would come home after a long school day and find my mother laying down on her bed – finally able to rest after spending a day working at the high school library, already quite ill and likely truly exhausted – I would lay next to her and hold her hand, rubbing the worn wedding band and examining every spot on her arm, and I would tell her about my day. In detail and likely rapid fire in the telling. It was the best part of the day, the reliving of everything through the telling, the judgement-less ear of my Mother, the gentle advice, the acceptance of folly, the unconditional love.
My Natalie has always shared her days with with us, with me. Even today, we can feel the air change as she enters the driveway, the electricity in the air as she comes in the house, and we brace for what comes next. I didn’t realize until yesterday that she is me, that my mother likely did the same when I entered the back door on the school days when she had just laid down to rest. I hope I have given to Nat what my mother gave to me, the unconditional ear, the soft landing, the love cushion we all need.
I lost so much when I lost my Mom. Perhaps this is my driver for my health, for making sure I’m here for my three for as long as possible. To be the witness and affirmation to all of their lives.
Nancy Wiley writes. 