Poignant Thoughts Of My Parents
I have been awake and sitting on the chair in the corner of our bedroom since just after two this morning. It is raining. Occasionally I hear it gently tapping at the window sill. My thoughts are every which way. The radio is playing softly. My mind wanders back to an painful and indelible memory in many years gone by. They had removed a tumour from Mama’s brain. In doing so, they robbed her of her very essence. Slowly she began to regress. It was excruciatingly painful to watch our beautiful, vibrant mother gradually become a shadow of the shadow of who she had once been. My father could not comprehend that she would never return to who she was once was, the elegant, poised, charming lady whom everyone admired and loved.
I cannot remember whether it was spring or summer, perhaps was fall or winter. Now that I think on it, it must have been either autumn or winter, for the windows were shut and the curtains were drawn. We had moved them into a flat in the same building where my sister lived. Given the situation, it was not feasible for them to live in their house because any longer. It was the end of the day. The fire in the hearth warmed the living room. Papa was sitting by it, reading. I sat next to him, knitting. Mama was in her bedroom, with her caregiver. I heard a shuffling sound coming from her room. I lifted my head from my knitting. She was leaning against the door jamb of her bedroom. Looking at her, I remembered the beautiful woman that she used to be. My heart ached at what she had become. Before me stood a haggard skeleton. Her hair had turned to silvery white. A gaping hole covered by skin pulsated over her right temple. That was where they had removed the eyebrow bone in order to get to the tumour. She had become timid and faltered in everything that she did.
She looked at Papa and said, “Yousef, I need money.”
Papa looked at her and said, “But I gave you $500.00 just yesterday!”
Before she could answer, I said, “Mama, you need money?”
“But not from you,” she replied.
“No, Papa will give you money,” I replied.
I turned to him and said softly, “Please give me a small paper bill.”
He did. I rose and walked over to her. My heart was torn into shreds, I handed her the bill. I hugged my poor mother. She took the bill and tottered back into her bedroom. I walked back to Papa. The look of shock on his face told me that he finally realized that Mama would never be the same again. A month later he suffered a heart attack. Within the year he was gone. He couldn’t tolerate the realization that she would never go back to being his vibrant beautiful wife.
As I write, I hear them play The Blue Danube Waltz on the radio. In my mind’s eye I see the little girl I used to be, standing on her Papa’s feet, as he spins her round and round as they happily waltzed away a lifetime ago. My parents are both gone now. I picture them waltzing across the expanse of the celestial skies, between a smiling moon and the twinkling stars. They are young and beautiful once more as they twirl their way to heaven.