Mother's Day

I HAD the most beautiful Mother's Day ever this year.

B took me out for a sunday drive, after we went on a Red Cross call to provide service to a couple that had lost the use of their home in a house fire. The call was in another small town outside of ours, so when we were done we took the long way home, through the rolling swales and slopes of Frenchman Hills. I'm not very familiar with the geography once you get me off the interstate, so it was all new to me. We made our way through the burgeoning orchards and the gently waving fields of thick green wheat until we dropped down the other side of the hill into Royal City.

"Show me your stomping grounds" I told him, and so he did. We drove slowly through the streets of what had been B's hometown. He showed me the fertilizer plant where he had worked as a young man, the high school, and the orchards he could have bought when he was 18 but didn't. He pointed out the house that his boyhood best friend had lived in, and marveled at how much the town had changed. We drove past the house that he grew up in, the "Casa de P-", he called it with a smile. It was a charming little ranch house, now surrounded by a deteriorating neighborhood and sadly in need of paint. "We had to get Mom out of here before the neighborhood got too bad" he remembered, and I understood why. The town is predominantly migrant, and poor, and his quiet little street had now become a dangerous place for an elderly woman living alone.

He pointed out a few more places, and I listened, trying to imagine my B here as a boy, young and strong and filled with life and vibrancy. I looked at the little house and tried to hear the music of Sally's piano, the mother that had shaped her young son with such a love of music.

Our last stop was the little cemetary. It was filled with artificial spring flowers, sprigs and bouquets, here and there, all adorned for Mother's Day. A quartet of bikers in their leathers and fringes stood headbowed, placing a flower of their own. We got out and wandered the rows. "I haven't been here since the funeral" he apologised. I found it before he did, but stepped back and let him make the discovery. It was a beautiful stone; a double headstone with father on the left and mother on the right I noted with some surprise that she'd passed only two years ago, in 2006. Where had I been when he had been hurting? I tried to remember some sign, but could only remember B, my stoic man, carrying on.

I slipped an arm around him as he looked at the place where his parents were laid. "I'm sorry... we should have brought flowers," I said.

"I did bring something." he said, pulling me tight to his side and laying a cheek on my head. "I brought you."
_____________________________________

Later that night we passed the time, as we so often do; he in the garage having a cigarette, and me in the laundry room folding laundry, the door open and quiet conversation wafting between us. We talked about his parents, and things that had transpired. He brought in the photo of his parents that I'd seen sitting in a box. "I'm glad you brought that in," I said. "I think it should be inside, if that's okay with you." He was quiet for a moment, and I didn't look up from the folding, giving him the moment to himself. "I would like that very much." I said.

He asked for the windex and cleaned it up until the glass sparkled, and then we stood together, arms around each other's waists, looking at the people who had brought life to my love. "I have his smile, do you think?" He said. "And her hair.... look, his was dark until the day he died. I have her grey hair."

"Yes." I said, nestling into the crook of his arm. He pulled me to him suddenly and held me tight.
"They would have loved you, my parents." His voice was rough. "My family will love you.... as much as I do."

"Oh, B." I whispered back. "You have brought so much to our lives. You will never know how much. Thank you." I reached up to kiss him. "Thank you for making this the best Mother's Day ever."