A Time to Remember

Well, the time has finally come. I can’t believe I am watching this sunrise with her for the last time. Where has the time gone? One day putting together science experiments for the science fair, the next we are here. I’m not ready.

“Hey, you in there somewhere?” she asks. I squeeze her hand and smile.

“Just thinking about all the science fair projects we did together,” I reply.

“Oh yeah? I remember doing the volcano project. That one sure got out of hand, didn’t it?” She let out a chuckle. “I can still recall the look on your face when it shot out and hit the ceiling.” She laughs a little harder. I love the sound of her laugh. It brightens my day. I’ll miss that.

“That was the first one we did, and that is your favorite? What about when we worked with chemicals and made our own salt? That took a long time, but we used the salt afterwards. Or the time we made soap. I remember washing the dog with that and how she smelled like flowers for days.”

“Those were good too. But the first one, you never forget.” She squeezes my hand this time. I can tell she is talking about more than just science experiments. The sun is above the horizon now. The pinks and pale oranges fade away as the light blue sky takes center stage. It will be a magnificent day, as she always says.

“It will be a magnificent day,” she states. Oh, how predictable she is. I’ll miss that too. Tears come to my eyes. I don’t want her to see them, so I turn away and dig through our cooler. I pull out a thermos full of coffee and pour some for both of us. I blink the tears away and turn and hand her the drink. 

“I made this just the way you like it—extra milk and sugar.” She doesn’t like coffee much but indulges me if I sweeten it enough. I’ve gotten used to the sweetness too and now can’t have it any other way but this. The birds wake up and we listen to their morning song as we sip our coffee. Not much traffic yet around the city. It’s a lazy Saturday morning. We always like to get up before the rest of the world gets caught up in the day's hustle. A lot gets done when no one is in your way. But today, we are in no hurry to get work done. We silently sit together listening to the birds. 

I finish my coffee, but don’t move. I don’t want this moment to end. But we have planned out the day and we have a lot to do.

“I guess we better get moving.” I stand and reach my hand out to her. She grabs it and stands, never taking her eyes off mine. We stare at each other—neither wanting to move. Finally, I take the coffee mug from her and pack it in the cooler next to our lunch. No need to stop for food later. We have too much to do.

I drive down the windy road from our isolated spot along the ridge above the city. I know every inch of this road, every curve. I’ve driven this road with her so many times, I can’t count them all. This one is the last time though and her eyes show she is thinking the same thing. Neither of us speak until we get to the bottom.

“You ready?” I ask her.

“No time to waste,” she says. Her voice cracks as she says this, and she quickly turns away. I don’t want her to cry, so I pretend I didn’t notice and take a left at the stop sign. I put in the CD I made for the occasion and we sit quietly enjoying the music. She pulls herself together and faces front once again. I sing with the songs and she joins in. The tension of the moment passes. We are just two people singing to our favorite songs without a care in the world. 

I pull the car into a parking spot and we get out. Other cars pull into spots and kids jump out and run toward the ocean. We walk the opposite direction. As we reach the shoreline, we take off our sandals. The water is warm as it laps against my feet. I won’t rush in this time. We walk along the edge and the sand squishes through my toes. A crab runs by in front of us and hurries down a hole. Laughter floats through the air behind us. I smile to myself, remembering all the times we came to this beach. Those memories locked in my brain forever. They are some of the best memories I have. 

I see her walking a few yards in front of me. I didn’t realize I had stopped. She looks back at me and ushers me forward. I jog a little to catch up to her. She reaches out and takes my hand. 

We walk together hand in hand to the boardwalk. People are fishing there, and pelicans and seagulls swoop in to take advantage of the bounty provided by the anglers. We pause and watch as a pelican dives deep and emerges with a fish hanging from its bill. Birds are so graceful. 

There is an artist setting up his wares. We stop to browse his selection. Beautiful masterpieces of nature. I buy one of the beach. A memento of our last day together. An hour passes like minutes. Its 10:00 a.m. and time to move on to our second destination. 

We walk back to the car and wash the sand off our feet. It will take another hour and a half to reach our next stop. I place the painting in the back seat. The car is warm, but the air conditioning cools it down. I start the music again and we are off. Cars fill the road now. The city has woken up. People are everywhere enjoying their day off. 

“Remember that time we got stuck in traffic after the earthquake?” I ask.

“How can I forget that? We got stuck for hours before they cleared the road. I almost peed my pants!” 

“Well, you shouldn’t have had that last drink.”

“How was I supposed to know an earthquake would hit us? Besides, you’re the one who said, ‘drink up, I’m driving.’” She gently slaps my shoulder as her entire body bounces with laughter. Her face is pink and her eyes sparkle. I bite my lower lip to keep it from trembling. 

Her body is still now. We are almost to the next destination. I pull over and rummage through the cooler. I hand her a sandwich and a bottle of water and pull out the same for me. I pull back on the road and eat my sandwich while driving with one hand. She picks at hers and drinks her water.

At this time of day, the parking lot is full. But we have no problem finding a spot in the front. One of the perks, I guess. I finish my sandwich. She eats only half of hers. I pack away the trash and help her out of the car. It is after 12:30p. It has taken us more than an hour longer to get here. Time is against us.

The museum’s air conditioning blows down on us from above. It is refreshing to walk around after being in the car for so long. Her eyes dance over the paintings, looking at every detail. She knows the museum intimately. We came here every week when we were younger. She is more knowledgeable about the paintings than most of the volunteer docents. She always took delight in asking questions that made them squirm. Not out of spite, but out of the desire to teach. She told me if you stop learning; you stop living.

We tour her favorite halls as she explains the artist’s history to me as if I have never been here before. We stop at her favorite painting and she gets lost in its colors and strokes.

“Mom?” I ask and touch her shoulder. She blinks several times before she answers.

“Yes, darling?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” She pats my hand sitting on her shoulder.

“I think it’s time to move on to our last stop.”

“Of course, dear. Let’s go.” She spins around and walks toward the entrance. I rush to be by her side. We reach the car and I open the door and help her settle in. I push start and we are off again. We spent more time in the museum than I planned, so I try to make it up by speeding.

“No need to speed. We have enough time,” she says. The irony breaks my heart. I slow down to the speed limit and stare straight ahead. The late afternoon sun is shining directly on her face. She squints but doesn’t move to put the visor down. I reach over and do it for her. 

“Thank you, kindly.” Her voice is low and soft. It startles me, and I swerve into the oncoming lane. I gain control and look over at her again. The pinkness gone from earlier in the day. The sparkle no longer in her eyes. A lump forms in my throat. Our last stop looms ahead. I park the car and clear my throat.

“Ready?” I ask.

“For what?” she replies. 

“To have dinner and watch the sunset.” She stares at me blankly. I hold back the urge to shake her, to bring her back. Instead, I stroke her hand. Recognition comes back into her eyes. I can see the sparkle again. I let out a deep breath. I get out of the car and help her to the door of the restaurant. We are late for our reservation, but they held it for us. We sit at her favorite table. 

The sun is low in the sky. We almost missed it. She stares out the window and watches as the sun sinks below the horizon. Pink, purple and orange erupt along the edge of the world. My mind barely acknowledges its beauty as I stare at her. I try to memorize her face as it is now lit up by the multi-colored sky. Full of life. Beautiful. There’s a small mole behind her ear. I never noticed that before.

The server interrupts my thoughts as he sets our food in front of us. This time she eats her whole plate as I pick at mine. I pay the check but make no effort to leave. Music is playing, and she is humming along. My body feels heavy. Cemented to my chair. I can’t bring myself to move. She has been watching the busboys clean tables and turns to me.

“Driver, I think we should go now. I’m very tired.” The word ‘driver’ runs through my heart like a dagger. She’s right. It is time. I help her to the car. She is still humming. The hour drive home is excruciating. 

We arrive at the home, and I assist her to her room. I hang the picture from our day at the beach as she prepares for bed in the bathroom. 

“Thank you for your help. You can go now,” she says when she comes out. 

“Yes, ma’am,” I say. I rush out the door and the tears I have held back all day come flooding through. I sob uncontrollably in the hall. Only the nurses observe my grief but continue unperturbed with their duties.

I run to my car and speed down the road. I run to the edge of the lake. I see the moon reflecting off the water. The ripples relentlessly moving in the breeze. They warned me, but I wasn’t ready. I’m still not ready. I’ll never be ready.