Yesterday was a cook-a-thon over here. I decided if I was making dinner for our new neighbors, I might as well cook a bunch, so I did. Let's just say my freezer is now partially full and Brian and Mary both received some of the spaghetti, bread, and ooey-gooey bars I made. Our neighbors also got Caesar salad with theirs, but there's just a limit as to how much lettuce I am willing to wash, dry, chill, tear, etc. I hate making a salad more than anything, so Brian and Mary had to do their own. I'm full service but not that full service.
When I delivered dinner next door, Laura was sitting on the couch with her feet up, as the movers unpacked their kitchen stuff, looking like she was about to cry. When I realized her kitchen wasn't even in, I ran back home and returned with paper plates. With their baby due in four weeks, the couch was the perfect spot for her since I don't want to be running next door to deliver her! Her husband, John, was outside with more movers, trying to put together the wall shelving for their den, and looking a lot like Laura--completely overwhelmed. Moving is such an all out whippin'.
And speaking of a whippin', my brother texted me the single most unflattering picture of mom, from a week ago, that almost blew my hair off. It literally took my breath away--she looked like a little old man-- she was clearly having a bad hair day. I've said it before and I'll say it again: that's not my mother. While Brian was here visiting yesterday, I mentioned the picture to him. He said he felt like he wanted to go see mom and I told him that while that was admirable and very sweet, not to put himself through it. I could tell from the look on his face he was really sad, but I know what seeing her would do to him--and to Benji--and I simply suggested that they both remember her the way she used to be, and not the way she is now. When Benji and Andrea were here, he wanted to see a more recent picture of her, and I wish I hadn't even shown it to him--and it wasn't a really bad one. The look on his face said it all. When I told him not to go, he looked relieved.
They both know they can tell me to just go blow if they really do want to go see her--they are adults. But I think they each understood I was trying to protect them from seeing something really sad and disturbing, that while totally natural, is just pretty damn awful. I'm sure some people would disagree with my decision and that's OK. To each his own. If you see her more often, like I do, it's a teency bit easier--but not a lot. I just don't want them to have a horrid last mental picture of her, seared into their brain, for all eternity. She wouldn't want it either.
No comments:
Post a Comment