Lamb

On my last visit, I had a very surreal, powerfully emotional moment with my Mom.

At age 87, my Mom's strength and stamina was waning fast. Some of the rituals parents and child used to share and cherish could no longer be had.

Every night, after dinner, watching stupid shows on TV was how we used to bond. Because it was easier to share opinions on things that didn't matter than to share deep thoughts about real life.

I observed that, even when my Mom could manage the couch for a bit of time before she had to retire, quite early in the evening, I felt very reluctant to actually sit next to her. It just didn't feel natural.

My relationship with her had always been fraught. Every time she opened her mouth to speak to me, I cringed and braced myself, "What critical, hurtful words will I hear now?"

We just never had that kind of loving closeness that I read about that other mothers and daughters have.

Even when I realized that every visit could be our last reunion, I could not bring myself to sit with her. I'd pull a chair up and situate it close to the couch where she was sitting. But the thought of actually sitting beside her on the couch itself brought on great anxiety.

Of course, this led to gnawing guilt. 

Until the last day, when it was time for me to fly back, to being, again, 7,000 miles away from my aging parents.

I sat down next to my Mom on the couch then. There was a look of innocence about her, childlike, a bit lost. I was touched. Allowing love to take over, I put my arms around her, and I kissed her on the cheek, multiple times, while bidding her farewell in a consoling manner. I talked to her as if I was the parent and she was the child, as if I was leaving for work, and I wanted her to know that she was loved, that she was not being abandoned, that it was just something I had to do.

She raised her bony hand and caressed me on the arm in our gentle embrace. She never said a word, just a wan smile. I squeezed her a bit tighter. It was real.

That was positively the single most tender, intimate moment we had ever shared. When we (my brother and I) were little, our parents and we hugged and kissed plenty. Somehow, with distance and time, we'd grown out of it. We'd forgotten how. It'd become awkward.

Sometimes I think about all the love that had been lost. But I'd like to remember that, the love was always there, just under the surface, even when we couldn't or didn't know how to express it.

And that was enough.