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| Electric Acorn 12 : Short Stories: |
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Waiting
Every exit is an entry somewhere else. That's what Tom Stoppard says at least, whoever he is. I like that idea, that there is a continuous journey and not a beginning and an end. I don't like to think that my mom has come to an end. She has just jumped ahead a step or two. I will catch up. Until then, I know that she's not alone.
I don't believe in Heaven anymore. I used to imagine it as a wonderland, a perfect place that was clean and beautiful, where you could do whatever you wanted and everyone was always happy. Birds would land on your hand and tweet cheerful melodies like in Disney movies, and no one would ever get sun burnt, even though everyday was sunny. But, I'm not sold on the idea these days. There are just too many holes in the theory. I believe in souls and spirits though, and I can't believe that my mom hasn't given me a sign to let me know she is near. I have been thinking of going to a psychic or a fortuneteller just to see what they have to say, but my friend Rita says they'll just mess with me and I will be sorry later.
Maybe I'm afraid that they will tell me that I'll get it too, the cancer. The doctor wanted me to go for genetic testing and counseling, and find out if I have the gene for breast cancer. "And if I do," I asked, "what then?" I can't really see the point in knowing unless they quickly invent some sort of vaccination that will miraculously counter it. Even if I have the gene, that doesn't insure that I will get it. She gave me a folder stuffed with pamphlets and xeroxed copies of newspaper and magazine articles, along with the card belonging to the geneticist. When I got home, I tucked it in my desk drawer. I had just lost my mom, who was only 46 years old. I can't start contemplating my own death! Or should I? The doctor's somber attitude made me wonder if I shouldn't just start planning my suicide. If I was gonna die any day, I may as well do it on my own terms.
I am a motherless 26 year old. My mom will not be here to teach me how to baste a turkey, see me walk down the aisle, or hold her grandchild. She will not see my little brothers graduate from high school or dress up for the prom. She will not retire to sunny Florida and drink Margaritas on the weekend. She will not see the glossy tangerines on the tree that she planted last fall, or the camellias that will bloom any day.
She worked hard and took care of everyone, and was a best friend to many people. Yet, her time is up here. She has walked through the door of our lives and entered somewhere else. But where has she gone? Where did her door lead?
Maybe she is a newborn baby in India today, starting all over again. Maybe she is a ghost haunting our old house, or watching over me when I sleep. Dad thinks she is some sort of guardian angel. She could be reborn as my new puppy- a Jack Russell terrier whose tail was bobbed too short. This thought makes me feel especially loving and protective of all things that are young-that have come into the world since she has gone.
This pain is just part of the experience. But I can't decide if I want to hurry it along, or wait and see if I can find her again in this world. I guess I just have to wait until a door opens-then it will be clear. My eyes are open to a sign. I'm waiting.
Michele is an American living in County Leitrim, where she works as an artist/teacher/property manager. She started writing last year with the Drumshanbo Writers Group. Her work recently appeared in the groups anthology, Bits and Pieces.
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