A Mother's Love

A soft kiss on my cheek ended the remnants of a fluttering dream; perhaps I had been flying just a moment ago. I looked at my wife in a daze. This was the type of post-work nap that left me wondering what day it was.

“Honey, your parents called. They want to come over.” The impossible words left her red lips so tenderly that she could have been comforting our daughter Lucille.

         Now I was certain I was stuck in a dream; one where you wake up several times, but you are actually asleep all the while. My parents? Visiting? What a ridiculous notion. I hadn’t dreamed up something like that for several years. Why now?

Sofia touched my arm, her soft brown hair falling all around me. She smelled of fresh lavender. I asked her to pinch my skin, and she did so with only a hint of amusement on her face. So this was real. My parents were coming.

“Leave. Now.” The words from my mother ten years ago still sent a pang of guilt, rage, and betrayal into my lungs, making me short of breath. The command boomed three days after I had finally come out, professing my love for another woman to the entire family. After three days of complete silence from my mother, she finally broke the suspense with two words that would change everything. Leave. Now.

         The significance of those two little words, eight letters, two syllables, can only be understood by those who have been rejected by their own flesh and blood. A phrase that competes with “we need to talk.” It marked an ending. I had always loved the power of words, the way they caused wars and ceased wars, brought life and death. When “I do” confidently floated from my tongue, I had meant it with every blood cell in my veins. Had my mom meant “Leave. Now.” with her entire being too?

         Mom and Dad arrived on a Tuesday. As I opened the door, their new oldness enveloped me; wrinkles rested where there had once been soft skin, grey hair covered my father’s head. An awkward hug was exchanged, along with small talk about the flight and the oddly cold weather this year. Sofia and I carried their bags from the cab as Lucille hid in the corner of the living room.

         “Come here child and say hello to your grandparents,” I heard my father say when I entered the house again.

         I watched with curiosity as Lucille approached these two strangers. “You’re not Mimi and Papa! They were here for dinner yesterday!” she shouted in a stupor. I looked to my parents to gauge their reactions, but their faces were unreadable.

“No sweetheart, we are your mom’s, well your other mom…” he awkwardly stumbled through the words, “your mother Emelia’s parents. Every child has two sets of grandparents of course.”

         With this new revelation and a nod of encouragement from Sofia, Lucille jumped in delight. I couldn’t help smiling at her never-ending joy and positivity. If there was ever a glass ceiling in the proximity of my Lucille, she would one day shatter it with pure sunshine.

         Our daughter, practically bouncing off the walls, guided my parents to the guest room and left them alone to freshen up, only after I coaxed her to the kitchen with the promise of a fresh cookie. Instead of accusing me of hiding a second pair of grandparents, she offered to help set the table for dinner. Sofia grabbed my hand, and we watched with pride as our little bundle of love carefully put out our best plates.

         Mom and Dad came down the steps slowly, much slower than I expected. When had their joints started to break down? Did Dad have a new knee? Thousands of questions rushed me at once, and then a sense of dread hit when I realized it was time for dinner. Dinner meant talking. I could feel the walls starting to tilt.

         Once we all sat, Lucille broke the tension. She seemed oblivious of the heaviness of the air, clearly elated to have two new people to tell about her latest school project. My mother listened with eagerness, and I imagined her trying to suck up the seven years she had missed of her granddaughter’s life. Anger suddenly engulfed me so deeply that my vision turned black. I found myself standing. No one was talking now.

“How could you do that to me?” I found myself saying, a deep sob rising in my chest. “Ten years. You missed my wedding. You missed our official adoption day. You missed your granddaughter’s first day of school. You missed it all! So why are you here now?!” I shouted.

         Sofia stood and put her hand on my shoulder. Lucille excused herself to go in another room, scared by the sudden outburst from her usually calm mother. My parents looked at me with so much hurt on their face I became even angrier.

         “Oh Emelia…” My mother started, but I was already in the hallway, heading for the door. I ran down the street, tears and blackness hindering my vision. Finally I stopped after my lungs screamed. I was several blocks away now. Sofia would be covering for me. Lucille might even be offering  my mother a fresh cookie. I didn’t need to go back, not yet.

         Noah’s house was only two blocks away. He answered the door with a twinge of annoyance.

         “Girl, you only had to knock once. I was trying to get some beauty sleep,” he snapped, but when he saw the mascara running down my face and sweat filled hair, he wrapped me in his arms. “Oh honey, what happened? Is Sofia alright? Lucille? Tell me everything.”

         Noah had never settled down. He lived in small house, living up life, always in search for the “perfect man to marry.” I had been the wing woman many times, but no one ever seemed good enough for my best friend. The godfather to my child, Noah was something special.

         “Emelia, you won’t want to hear this,” he started, but I cut him off in our usual banter.

         “Then don’t say it!” I teased, half-serious.

         “Emelia, my parents kicked me out when I was fifteen. I was homeless. When they wanted to come back into my life, I didn’t want them there. I pushed them away every time they tried to reconnect. Up until the day they died in that car accident, they wanted to apologize. I never forgave them in person. But now, well, I just wish they were here for me to forgive,” he finished, wiping a tear from his eye. “Maybe your parents have changed, maybe they haven’t. All I know is that I wish I had let mine back in, just so they could glimpse the amazing man I had become.”

         Noah waved goodbye as I stepped out of his car in front of my home. Memories started landing on me like snowflakes: my first kiss with Sofia, Lucille’s first word. My parents had missed all of that. They could never get it back. They could never make excuses for it. But they were here now.

         “Oh Emelia!” my mother cried when I entered the house. She ran up and wrapped me in a hug only a mother can give. “We are so sorry!” she sobbed, “We don’t have to agree with your choices, but we will always love you,” she concluded, still hanging onto me.

         With those words, something in me clicked into place. Tears flowed down my face into my mother’s shirt. They were the words I had longed to hear for ten years. While they weren’t perfect words, they were real. We had a long way to go, but at least we could finally begin.