It was Sam's idea. He always had these celebratory, over the top ideas , high flying , never staying in a place kind of idea. It was okay that we were meeting after a decade or so, but what the heck, we were meeting at the funeral of our father . Is it a time to go swimming in the creek ? That too armed with refreshments like fried chicken , not to mention Sam's gaggle of his disreputable female friends.
Then there was Tom with his camera and tripod, not letting any thoughtless moment go unrecorded.
That evening , all came back wet , spent and happy, tripping over the carpet, in their beer- induced tipsiness.
That was the limit. Mother, still red-eyed and black laced, came charging out of her room and ordered us out of her home and her life . She has had enough , she said , and rightly so.
Five years later, she was still there, rocking herself to sleep on the porch, her overgrown cat in her lap, hissing at the sight of us . Mother had shrivelled , her spirit had not. She looked at us , squinty eyed in the sun , and did not smile . Warily she took us all in , and the rose , with great difficulty, looking for her walking stick , stoutly rejecting all help. The cat slid to the floor and ran into the back seat of the rusting Chevrolet in the backyard. Mother wouldn't sell it , for all the money in the world . For her , it reminded her more of dad , than any of us did. We were her shame . She hobbled in, and turned back to face us , her face a dark mask in the shadows, "Why have you come now ?"
Always a picture of propriety, She did not want a scene on the porch , where the neighbours could see and hear. But then , She was the one to drive us away. It could have been the overpowering and numbing grief of having lost a great spouse, a friend and companion for a life time . But we were too young and foolish to comprehend all that.
"It is mother's day Mom. Tom had to come down here, so we all decided to see how you were doing ."That's right, so like Sam , hiding behind the skirts of other people's decision.
"You didn't answer our letters ."
"Neither did you pick up the phone."
All of us felt brave enough to chime in , after Sam's small speech.
Mom muttered and turned her back, hobbling into the kitchen. The breakfast things lay on her spotless counter. Even the sink glistened in its steely glory. She sat at the stool where she had made numerous meals , packed countless tiffins. Her rickety stool, painted white , every christmas eve, by father.
Then She turned to me , the youngest, even as all stood at the entrance to the kitchen , askance , afraid , hesitating.
"Can you put the kettle on dear? The coffee is in the drawer, and the mugs in the cupboard. It has been ages ...." She trailed off and I was the first one to go and hug her. I was the youngest and I had that privilege. Also to see the tears in her eyes .The others sighed , and the sun suddenly seemed brighter and sunnier , as if a huge cloud had lifted.
Then there was Tom with his camera and tripod, not letting any thoughtless moment go unrecorded.
That evening , all came back wet , spent and happy, tripping over the carpet, in their beer- induced tipsiness.
That was the limit. Mother, still red-eyed and black laced, came charging out of her room and ordered us out of her home and her life . She has had enough , she said , and rightly so.
Five years later, she was still there, rocking herself to sleep on the porch, her overgrown cat in her lap, hissing at the sight of us . Mother had shrivelled , her spirit had not. She looked at us , squinty eyed in the sun , and did not smile . Warily she took us all in , and the rose , with great difficulty, looking for her walking stick , stoutly rejecting all help. The cat slid to the floor and ran into the back seat of the rusting Chevrolet in the backyard. Mother wouldn't sell it , for all the money in the world . For her , it reminded her more of dad , than any of us did. We were her shame . She hobbled in, and turned back to face us , her face a dark mask in the shadows, "Why have you come now ?"
Always a picture of propriety, She did not want a scene on the porch , where the neighbours could see and hear. But then , She was the one to drive us away. It could have been the overpowering and numbing grief of having lost a great spouse, a friend and companion for a life time . But we were too young and foolish to comprehend all that.
"It is mother's day Mom. Tom had to come down here, so we all decided to see how you were doing ."That's right, so like Sam , hiding behind the skirts of other people's decision.
"You didn't answer our letters ."
"Neither did you pick up the phone."
All of us felt brave enough to chime in , after Sam's small speech.
Mom muttered and turned her back, hobbling into the kitchen. The breakfast things lay on her spotless counter. Even the sink glistened in its steely glory. She sat at the stool where she had made numerous meals , packed countless tiffins. Her rickety stool, painted white , every christmas eve, by father.
Then She turned to me , the youngest, even as all stood at the entrance to the kitchen , askance , afraid , hesitating.
"Can you put the kettle on dear? The coffee is in the drawer, and the mugs in the cupboard. It has been ages ...." She trailed off and I was the first one to go and hug her. I was the youngest and I had that privilege. Also to see the tears in her eyes .The others sighed , and the sun suddenly seemed brighter and sunnier , as if a huge cloud had lifted.
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