Dear Mom
Thank you for not griping the whole time you were here. I didn’t know who to expect, the I Don’t Understand My DaughterInLaw Mom or the That’s a Tasty Soup Mom. I got the Tasty Soup Mom and for that I am grateful. I don’t know if God reached into your brain or what, but I got what I prayed for. I was even able to tolerate the Turn The Conversation To All About Me Mom, you know, the one who, when Dad and I are talking about CJ’s educational opportunity, turns it into “I find great sales at Curry’s”, but I have learned how to go “oh that’s nice” and turn it right back to education.
I was able to say “Yeah, you’ve told me all about that already” when you start in about your fabulous Sunday School class or the dinner group and avoid having to hear the same story for the 12th time.
It was good, for me and for you, Mom. I love you. You irritate the SNOT out of me, but I love you.
I’m sad, when I see how your hands shake how you have a hard time getting the food to your mouth, and how your ankles swell in the evening. I noticed that your hair is all white now, none of the chestnut brown in it anymore. I noticed that your skin looks like crepe paper, and is so pale. I saw how tenative you are, whenever you’re trying to do something, anything, and that makes me sad. You were always so confident with yourself and I don’t see that. You still make plans to weave, to teach someone to spin, to plant a huge garden. I don’t see how you can, with your hands so shaky and the way you get tired so easily.
But you still love to talk, and watch a good movie, and laugh about the kids. You still snuggle with those stupid little dogs of yours, enjoy a cup of tea and a cookie. You can still gripe about the Administration, the Alabama senators, and the way young women dress these days. So I guess it’s not all bad.
And it was good to see you, even if I didn’t care what sale Curry’s was having.
Love, Peggy
