I’ve Arrived
October 12, 2018
The Journey Home
October 14, 2018I’ve Arrived
October 12, 2018The Journey Home
October 14, 2018
The Muumuu
My sister and I are sitting with our mother in her hospice room. She lies in bed dressed in a hospital gown that ties at the back. The bed is upright so that she can visit with us. It is a hot, humid Minnesota day that arrives with a televised warning. I hold my mother’s hand during idle chat that amounts to nothing. Periodically, I lift a straw to her mouth so that she can have a sip of coffee.
We are simply passing the time together, knowing that it’s limited.
As I sit there, I’m thinking about a dress hanging in my mother’s minuscule closet, a dress that I always loved on her. On my trips to Hawaii, I would buy my mother a traditional Hawaiian muumuu. But this one—this muumuu—was the best. I had bought it for her in downtown Honolulu in a very expensive clothing shop. It’s one of those beautiful Hawaiian cotton dresses with fresh colors that resemble sherbet. She always looked so tan in it. With today’s humidity, simply the thought of that dress is refreshing.
I look at her with a grin from ear to ear, similar to what a six-year-old might do. I engage in a bit of theatrical humor: “Can I have something?” I say to her, my face frozen in a ridiculous broad smile that resembles the Cheshire Cat. My mother is entertained and begins a hearty laugh. I haven’t seen her laugh in weeks. To her, perhaps it is funny because there is so little left. What in God’s name could I actually want? And then, I think she’s laughing at me and my spontaneous childlike performance. Perhaps she is simply charmed by the break of monotony.
She doesn’t say to me, “What do you want?” Or she could say, “What do you want now?” She might also say, “Let me guess…” Instead, she looks at me with eyes twinkling; whatever I want is irrelevant to her, she is captivated by the exchange. She gives my hand an extra squeeze and says, “Whatever you want is already yours.”