Bittersweet desserts, perhaps. #reverb11

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Lets do lunch! – If you could have lunch with anybody, who would it be and what would you like to discuss?

If I could have lunch with anyone, at all, it would be my mother. Our lunch would so be full of tears and love and tragedy, Shakespeare would be proud. If I could sit across the table and look into eyes that are blue versions of my own, smile with a smile that is the same sort of crooked, maybe I would find some peace. She would have none for the period of lunch that we share. I would bombard her with questions, seeking the answers to all the things I only half know.

I would ask about the cancer, how it hurt, how she felt and what kept her fighting for so long. I would tell her that I didn’t mind having to bathe her. I would tell her that playing with her tray of perfumes, jewelry and makeup made me feel closer to her after she passed. I’d tell her about the bottle of perfume I keep because it smells like her, even though it smells horrid on me.

I would ask her about her youth and solidify those stories from the wanderings and imaginations of a young girls mind. I would ask her about Robin and Sweetycomes and Joe and my dad. I would ask her about her mother and her father, her aunt. I would ask her about her dreams and why she didn’t chase them. I’d thank her for showing me love and passion and silliness can all exist throughout the pain in one’s life. That those little things were what made life worth living.

I would ask her about when she was raped for the second or third time, this time by a police officer. I’d tell her that I learned about it in a terrifying journal entry I read when I was 15. I’d shed more tears for her than I did that night. I would ask why she felt she had no power, no recourse. I would thank her for teaching me to be vigilant about my safety.

I would ask her about her art. I’d show her my own.

I would ask her what she thought of me and my brother and what we have done with ourselves. I would ask her if she was proud.

I would ask her to hold me. Just for a little while, like she used to. To run her fingers through my hair and trail her nails down my arms. I would give anything to have her arms around me again.

I’d make her laugh, ask her to dance, let her listen to CeLoGreen and Adele and see her light up when she heard the fun and soul in the music.

We’d order wine and crab with pasta and dessert. I’d tell her how I miss her. I’d thank her for giving me a moment. I’d tell her how even as I miss her, my life wouldn’t be what it was if she was alive. That it was okay, because the woman I am now is someone I think she’d like.

I’d ask her to stay, knowing she couldn’t.

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8 responses »

  1. Leslie, I’m sorry you lost your mom. This was such a wonderful, moving post. Thank you for sharing. I too cannot imagine how difficult that was/is for you. She was very beautiful and I an definitely see you in her. 🙂

  2. I can see where this would be a hard one to write. I hope that in doing so you got out some of the things you needed to say. This is a great answer to the prompt.

  3. I’ll eventually find the time to click my way back to the very first post on this blog of yours and start there and read every single word you’ve written, but tonight, the night I first learned you started a new blog, I was in a restaurant checking mail on my iPhone and I clicked the link you sent me and landed here and was a sniffling, snarfling mess in no time at all. I miss her so much and your words are so sweetly and perfectly descriptive of her, right down to the trailing of the nails down your arm. I remember watching her do that with you kids while just hanging out on the couch. And I can tell you what kept her fighting for so long, Les. ‘Twas you and your brother. She wanted so badly to be around to watch you grow up and into the people you are now, the people she knew you could become. She and I talked about that and I watched her try so very hard. And contrary to what you may think, I think she would actually feel excruciatingly peaceful and furiously happy fielding your bombardment of questions during that lunch of yours.

    And she’d fucking love Adele.

  4. Pingback: Reflecting #reverb11 | astateofjoy

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