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How the Light Gets In
I draw a turtle on a whiteboard and tell the story of Twyla Turtle. “What should Twyla do today?” I ask my 2 ½-year-old granddaughter during our FaceTime call. She has been home for a week after nearly 2 months of sheltering in place with her parents, baby brother, my husband, and me. Now my house is clean and calm. And empty without two little people that round out the ones I love most. “Twyla wants to go to the zoo,” she says. I glance at her face up close in my phone and feel a surge of love. Then at her request, I draw a zookeeper, her baby brother,…
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Loss Creates Space
My brother and I stand at the dresser I used as a child. It is covered with sewing notions. Things our mom used to patch levis, stitch quilts, and add badges to scout shirts. Things that were useful when she was around. My brother said: “It’s just a Chex tin, but I remember it from 40 years ago.” I look at the other tin, full of spools of thread and pins and buttons. It takes me to my mom. Actually everything in the house holds a memory of my mom, my dad or my childhood. Our dad’s death evokes our mom, who has been gone almost 13 years. I pick…
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A Teacher’s Influence
When I was little, I wanted to be a teacher. My mom says I came home from kindergarten and made my younger brothers sit through rhyming words and math problems. Until the 3-year-old threw his pencil and announced he was done with school. I attended the same elementary school K-6. The place is full of memories of my brothers and me. I can still see the lockers, gym, lunchroom and a girl in the schoolyard. The school bell rang as the red rubber ball bounced into my square. A gust of hot wind whipped my ponytail. I tossed the ball into the bin and started toward the door of my…
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Ten Things I’d Share with Myself As A Younger Mom
I reflect a lot lately. I feel emotions wash over me with each wave of change, not the least of which is becoming an empty-nester. Grown and Flown. That’s what they call it. There are things I love about this stage of life. Scott and I have time together; we have a granddaughter. My kids are working toward their goals. They’ve added wonderful people to our family. I cook less; the house stays clean. My to-do list is shorter. I go to bed when I feel like it. I know how this sounds to harried, young moms with kids who are yelling on the other side of the bathroom door.…
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The Biology of Change
I’m in the car with my son, his wife and their daughter. They are moving from a place they love to a place they are meant to go. Almost everything is unknown. I am along to help with my granddaughter. Our drive takes us through a town where I spent 27 years. And my kids know I will savor the trip on Route 66 through my childhood. We pull off the highway. I direct them to the neighborhood where I grew up, but I miss the entrance. It looks so different. As we drive the tree-lined hill that leads to my home, time shifts to a summer day in the…
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The End Signals A Beginning
I put the car in reverse and back out of the driveway. I begin a 14-hour drive to a college we visited once. She has a dream and she’s chasing it. I have a knot in my stomach and peace in my heart. I am at once happy, sad, excited, fearful and nostalgic. I am her mom. She travels to a beginning. I travel to an end. Her beginning leads to new friends, experiences, freedom, memories. My end leads to a house void of her laughter, her backpack on the floor, her school-day run home for lunch, her energy, her clothes pushing out the laundry chute, her friends. Her. When…
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Holes in the Sky
I listen to my son’s story of feeling his grandma near. He was alone. He was struggling with the language and culture in a foreign country. It was a difficult time for our family. She had been gone for 3 years. It’s not the first time I’ve heard the story. Hearing it still makes me cry. He shared the story at a family gathering last month, our first since her funeral. We’ve been together in small groups, but for various reasons, it’s been 18 years since our last family reunion. After eating one of my mom’s signature desserts, 34 of us sit close. We swap anecdotes, some funny, some poignant,…
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From Branch to Trunk
I wrap my wet hair in a towel after my morning workout. I hear the door close and Scott’s quick steps. I ask why he is back an hour and a half after leaving for work. I notice watermarks on his tie. Later I know they were caused by teardrops. Scott: “Here she is, Dad.” He hands me the phone and stands close, his arm around me. I hear my dad speak. Me: “What?”He tries again. I hear a solitary wail in the distance. The sound of grief. I sink onto the bench at the foot of the bed, and only then do I discern the wail rose from a place within me. …
