Mommy's Saddest Day Ever

“Mommy, don’t cry.” I climbed up onto her bed and scooted under the blanket. She lay curled up on her side and I squeezed into the space that was empty near her tummy, facing her. I stared into her eyes which held the sadness of the world.

“I’m ok. I promise.” I whispered to her without reaction except for another tear slipping out sliding sideways landing on her pillow.

I reached up to wipe the streak that the tear had left behind feeling my mother’s softness that I remembered so well.

Every year on the same day she did the same thing. I always knew it was coming when the leaves swirled down from the tree tops flittering about before landing on the grass joining the acorns. The endless blue skies took a turn towards gray then darkness began to settle in shortly after dinner. 

Pumpkins appeared on front porches of houses lined up one after another in our neighborhood. Webs were strewn across bushes, ghosts hung from trees gently blowing in the breeze. Giant inflatable witches and monsters decorated lawns in their massive splendor.

The actual day became thought of as “Mommy’s saddest day ever”. Mommy didn’t get out of bed, didn’t make her usual bowl of cereal with fruit, didn’t slowly sip her morning coffee even though we all knew that Mommy was cranky without her morning coffee. On the saddest day ever there was no eating or drinking. Sometimes there was no showering or getting dressed, instead staying deep under the blankets in flannel pajamas and thick woolen socks. After sleeping for hours, she occasionally woke only to immediately return back to slumber. 

On the saddest day ever, no one played with the cat who meowed for attention, no one took the dog out despite the leash being dragged around the house in hopeful anticipation. I fed the pets, pouring carefully measured food into their bowls. I didn’t dare take the dog for a walk knowing that would cause unwanted attention from the neighbors. The pets silently thanked me with their soulful eyes.

Then one year on the saddest day ever it was different because Angela was there. Little Angela waving her tiny fists like a prize fighter all snuggled in her brand new pumpkin themed pajamas with feet. She slept in her cradle placed in the corner of the master bedroom close enough to be rocked from bedside, close enough for her breathing to be heard and monitored.

I loved Angela. She was better than the toys I played with, even better than the doll I had gotten for my fourth birthday. Mommy’s friend was surprised.  “You’re giving him a doll??” she asked with eyebrows that went up to the top of her forehead. “Yes. I’m giving him a doll. He should know how to take care of a baby, how to be gentle with the pets.”

When I met Angela in the other place I knew how to care for her. It was different there, just our softness and what makes us “us” without all the extras.  It didn’t matter that she was in the before stage and I was in the after stage, we shared adventures like typical siblings. We were family after all.

Spending most of my time in the other place I continued to check on Mommy whenever possible. She was a funny one, sitting on the floor in my bedroom playing with my toys talking to herself, sometimes laughing, sometimes crying. My Spiderman costume still hung on the hook with its tags on waiting for the Halloween parade that had marched on without me. Sometimes I moved it into the closet because I was never going to wear it after all.

I never knew what to expect when I went to visit. Sometimes I found her sleeping in my bed like Goldilocks.  Laughing with delight I felt like the little bear. “Someone’s been sleeping in my bed and she’s still there,” I would shout and sometimes she woke up, glancing over in surprise, but only sometimes.

Then came the day that Angela was selected by the angels who caressed our cheeks with kisses. Being her protector, I quietly followed along on her journey. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Mommy all red and screaming, her tummy huge, way bigger than it would be even if she ate all the ice cream in the world. And Mommy never ate that much ice cream!

Suddenly there was my little Angela on the other side in Mommy’s arms like I had been once upon a time.

“What shall I call you, little one?”  Holding our newborn close, mother and child gazed into each other’s eyes.

As I had been calling her Angela, my little angel, I whispered that name into Mommy’s ear and together we felt the goosebumps appear. 

“Angela, my love,” Mommy whispered. It was settled.

The hospital room bustled with activity, loved ones bringing flowers and balloons taking turns holding and kissing little Angela. I thought back to the day when these same friends and family came to visit me, but instead of smiles there had been tears, streams and rivers of tears. If only I was able to let them know I was okay, that their pain was worse than mine.

I was still able to remember the accident. Everyone said I would forget but I didn’t want to forget because it’s Mommy’s saddest day ever and I had to be there for her. So, I told myself the story over and over like a bad fairy tale with a wicked ending. It wasn’t as sharp as it had been when I was five years old, the handlebar grips not as rubbery under my fingers, the pedals not as sturdy under my feet. The scariest part was hearing Mommy’s scream as the truck came and went leaving me in its path of destruction. I felt no pain of my own but the pain that entered Mommy’s heart and soul was the worst pain in the entire world.

On the first saddest day ever shared with her new baby, Mommy was in bed while Angela was in her cradle. Her little jaw quivered as the tears started pushing through her eyes on their way down her chubby little cheeks. Mommy will take care of her, won’t she?   

When Mommy opened her eyes and glanced at Angela with exhaustion, I kissed her cheek and whispered, “Let me do this.”  I got out from under the blanket and looked at my real little doll. Gently rocking the cradle, I sang her favorite song from the other place. She quieted down seeing me, her big brother, her best friend, her protector. 

Mommy whispered “Thanks, love” to me and we all felt the goosebumps together.