haunted house. My father lies deeply confused and grief-stricken on
his bed, trying to push away the flood of fears washing over him as
he realizes how much he depended on his newly departed wife. I am
sitting in the breakfast nook, in the same chair SHE (my mother) used
to sit in night after night and I am feeling alone and maybe a little
afraid as well. I look up and see my reflection across the living
room in a mirror hanging on the wall near the front door and I am
struck by the background behind me. Frilly flower printed curtains,
pastel colored decorative plates featuring children in various stages
of play, and a Raggedy Ann doll just above my head as if my mom is
hovering in effigy. Like my father the day before I suck back tears
and fight mightily to compose my face as I realize I'll never again
have one of those soothing, emotion-ridden soul baring conversations
with my mom as we so infrequently had in days past. Gone is the last
person I know with whom I can bear my soul without fear of judgment
or fear of insult. Who will I open up to now?
The cuckoo cuckoo clock ticks and tocks and every now and then, when
I am least expecting it, lets out a sudden and very loud CUCKOO for
each hour on the hour and once every half hour and it startles me
every time. Each chime conjures up a memory of round table chats
held early mornings with coffee or late night stories told over iced
cocktails. Sort of like a slow motion slide show with whispers of
laughter and tears bygone. What memories will this tell-tale clock
retrieve from this day forward? Will there still be laughter or only
tears as mom's memory becomes murky. Will the tick-tocking clock
remain perched above the nook or will it fade away as the process of
clearing away old memories to make room for the new ones begins.
Witness the oak and mirror curio cabinet standing next to the mirror
which so recently triggered this mental odyssey. The cabinet, once
populated with beautifully bedecked porcelain people from around the
world now counts a solitary figure. A Betty Boop doll with eyes wide
and in light of her status as sole survivor I can see the uncertainty
under her long black lashes. Tomorrow the curio cabinet will go away
and only Betty will remain. A fitting reverse symbol if ever one,
Betty Stine leaves the world and the world leaves Betty Boop… Worlds
pass and people pass but guess what; I'm still here and maybe I am
not ready for these times. Maybe I still need early morning coffee
klatches and late night cocktails with my mom to keep my heart and
spirit aligned.
She made this house a home, she infused it with warmth, she filled it
with love and comfort and now she has left the building. Will the
warmth fade? Will the house ever resonate the way it has in the past
when she was here? Probably not. Already there is an atmosphere
change. The heart has been removed leaving the brain struggling and I
want to somehow freeze time so that I can keep my refuge from cold
unrelenting life. How can I stop the tick-tock and what must I do to
reclaim my confidante and life coach? I take a hard pull from the
crystal glass containing golden whisky, swallowing the burning liquid
as tears well up once again and threaten to invade my frozen mask.
Standing abruptly and shaking off the impending self pity I flash
back to a conversation many years before when Mom explained to me her
perceptions of heaven. She'd told me that heaven was a place where
old friends were reunited and new friends were eagerly awaited. She
told me to never fear death as it was simply a journey to serenity
and that those on earth should live a life full of happiness thus
making their time in heaven that much more pleasurable. Smiling
through my released tears at my reflection across the room I finally
understand. My confidante is still with me, her memory of past within
me, her promise of the future before me and I can only go forth
bravely to cultivate more friends, for in heaven it's the more the
merrier.
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