Mom rolled over this morning and asked, "what time is it?" "I don’t know," I replied somewhat impishly. It’s true, I can’t see the clock without my glasses, but also, my answer had a somewhat naughty insouciance as I really meant, "who cares? … You go back to sleep; I’m going to read for a while." And so our day began. This day is much like previous days after my step father’s death as I share my mother’s quiet grieving and her nights. I certainly do not need "quiet time" here with Mom to read! The hush of falling snow is broken only by the swish of a DVD slipped into the player at the television, the quick trip to church, the market, and the video store, or the swoosh of the treadmill in the guest room. It’s been really cold this my first "real winter" with temperatures ranging from -16 to 20 degrees Fahrenheit. Mother pointed today to the bushes and trees covered with snow. Lovely and best viewed from under a blanket! The squirrels here are fat with winter coats. I lounge in one of Mom’s twin recliner chairs to read and I look up occasionally at the double picture of my sister Annette, my sister in heaven. The clock ticks, but time does not matter here. Annette is a beautiful child of seven. I cannot imagine a woman of 65 years of age that she would be if she were not in heaven. I am Mother’s child, and I’m learning to do her will. Slowly I’ve swung around, like the inexorable, slow hands on a clock, slowly moving, I’ve arrived at obedience. Rarely do I argue with Mom. Yesterday I tried to convince Mom to come South to Florida for a few good years, but Mom has cast her own insouciance at time, arrogantly turning time around. Bed time is in what many call the wee small hours around 2am. Long after the sun is past mid day, Mom emerges from the bedrooom like a small ruffled chicken, her hair all on end, eyes blinking against the light of day! She will get her chance to shake her fist at time when I leave here to return home. My sisters and I pray that soon Mother will shake off this winter coat and come to live with us in the land of shorts and tee shirts rather than stay in this quiet place. Alone, in the quiet.
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