Mom's Tears

I saw my mother cry just three times.

Grammie has died. She woke up early one morning and couldn't find Doda. Lester, Lester, where are you?...A question she had asked so many times with no good answer. A question that, with Uncle Harold's death, had conspired to destroy her mind...And she wanders out of her apartment and opens the basement door. Down, down she goes, though very unsteady on her feet...Lester, Lester, are you there? And he is there, shoveling coal into the furnace as he does each winter morning...The next thing we hear is that she has fallen down the stairs and bumped her head....Mom rushes to Cookshire to be be with her as she dies. (And for many years, I don't dare ask the question. Finally, I approach my oldest cousin: Awnie, do you think he pushed her?...You know, Barbie, I think we have all wondered that. When the police came, he sat and answered their questions as meekly as could be. That wasn't like him..)...But, in retrospect, I think it more likely he was shaking her - as he often did - and she toppled...Any moral difference?...In any case, Mom came home after the funeral to a house topsy-turvy and unkempt. She went to her bedroom, lay down, and cried and cried. Mom, Mom, what is wrong?..My mother has died, I went away to be with her, and bury her, and I come home to this!...I'm sorry, Mom. I just didn't think about it...And Dad shakes his head sadly: That's right, that's the problem. Don't you see that?...One of the very few times my father ever rebuked me, and so well earned!

I am fifteen and I earn a good income babysitting. I charge fifty cents an hour, multiplied by many hours per month. My customers are by and large teachers and their friends - people who see me as a stable, responsible girl - which I was, more-or-less at that time...I have been at the Downs' house, as I am each Sunday evening. They are an odd couple, indeed. Mr. Downs teaches with Dad. He is short, tubby and not physically prepossessing. Mrs. Downs is tall and very attractive. They have three little children, close in age, and are expecting another...( My friend, Sonja, more "advanced" in her thinking than the rest of us, due to her European background, finds this disgusting)...Their bookshelves contain books by Billy Graham - who is he? Have I heard of him?...And the reason I am here - they go to church twice each Sunday! How odd! Why would they do that? I have never heard of such a thing!..At the end of the evening, I get in the car and Mr. Downs drives me home, with the usual valiant attempt at conversing with a very awkward teenager...I go into the house and Mom is there waiting up for me, as she always does. I look at her and all my fifteen year old anger, arrogance, and unbridled sin rise up. I look at her and she knows what I am thinking. She breaks into tears and says, I just feel like you girls hate me....And - I thank God He has forgiven me -I do. Too often, I do.

I am married now and live close to Mom and Dad. I am just hanging around with Mom in the kitchen, enjoying being with her. All of a sudden, she begins to cry. Mom, Mom, what is wrong? I'm just thinking about my father, and I'LL NEVER SEE HIM AGAIN!