Saturday, July 23, 2011

A Cup of Tea

Again I woke up at 3:30 on Saturday morning. The house is quiet and warm with summer's heat. I collect last night's dishes, start the dishwasher, and sip on cinnamon tea. I feel sad again. I do not understand why my mom has gone missing. I do not know where to place this emotion.

I woke up in tears. I had been hanging out with my mom. She helped me look for an apartment and then I needed her opinion on a dress. I guess it was for something significant but I don't remember. She came with me to see a few apartments but she was distracted. When I'd turn around to ask her what she thought, she would be on the phone or meandering near the edge of the property. I looked for Doug to see if he could help but all he gave me was a shrug and avoided my eyes. 

My mom and I finally sat down to discuss the apartments and make a decision about my dress. This time I thought I'd have her full attention for sure. But when I began explaining, she picked up her cell phone, a big plastic ridiculous thing that looked like a child's toy. I lost it. The water I had just sipped was now spewing out of my mouth and onto the TV. It flashed and whirred and finally went dark. I felt monstrous, fists clenched and hair wild. Those around us looked at me in horror. I began screaming. I wanted her opinion, I wanted her input. Why was she holding that from me? In a flash I realized I was not mad at her, logically she could not give me her opinion any more. She is dead. That woman in front of me, ignoring me was not my mother. She was a mirage my subconscious had created to bring her back to life for me. I immediately collpased into tears.

I woke up on a damp pillow and looked at the clock. 3:30 again. Standing over the sink, I examined my hair. My head felt like it was too small for the amount of material inside, as if the pressure of it would compress my brain and I would fall onto the floor in a heap. I took a deep breath and ran my wrists under the cool water. I told myself the pressure would subside with a cup of tea. 


  1. (((hugs)))

    I remember your Mom from her side when she was going around with you looking at apartments and talking about the dress (for the wedding wasn't it?) She was worried but also confident and sort of happy that you were so independent. I remember her talking about your red shoes.

    Right now I am sitting next to the needlebook she and I made together in 2006 ( I stitched the date on it) and wondering if I will ever finish anything like it again.

  2. Maybe Mom just wanted you to do your freaking dishes. Love you Maggs...