The Smile In Her Eyes

The Bible says, “From dust we came and to dust we shall return.” I don’t remember it saying anything about completely losing your mind first. Why can’t we all just die? In the sunset of our lives--when days seem like minutes and minutes like seconds--why must we spend our last waking moments scraping every crevice of our mind for a thought or projection to remind us of a more meaningful existence?

I watch my mama’s brow furrow in confusion. She searches for meaning in the same blue eyes she fell in love with the day she brought me home. I can’t help but study her gaze for any traces of recollection, perhaps not necessarily looking for the memory itself, but rather for that familiar loving expression.

Everything about Dogwood seems ready to expunge what vestigial memories of me she has left. The pastel laminate visitor badges they give you on the way in. The hand-sanitizer stations every twenty-five feet. The slimy Jello for desert. The care-givers dressed in all white, roaming the halls with empty faces; more like prison guards than nurses.

But then I sit here, spoon-feeding her some undercooked peas, trying to spur conversation. “How are the peas, mama?” Nothing. I persist. “That’s a pretty shirt, mama. Did Betsy give that to you?” Still nothing.

I can’t help but hope that, at some point, my face will mean something to her. But it doesn’t; and I lose hope. She sits and nervously strokes the wrinkles of her brown corduroy pants. It seems as if she anticipates my departure. It’s the first time I have seen her in several years, and it very well could be the last.

I wheel her back to her room, arduously pull her up and onto her bed. The confused and pained expression on her face doesn’t change. I look up at my husband and my son, preparing mentally to say goodbye, when I hear a word spoken that my ears cannot believe. I heard my name in my mother’s familiar tone. I look over at her, and she’s looking at me with a rare smile in her eyes. I recognize it from when I was a little girl. And try as I might, I cannot find the strength to hold back the tears.

For one brief moment, I had that connection with her that I’d traveled so far to have. For one brief moment, I think I saw my mama again. I could almost smell her homemade whole wheat waffles! The moment soon passed, though, and my sobs became sniffles. But I wiped away the tears and snot, and smiled. Because I knew at that moment, that I loved her for who she was to me. And no disease could ever take that away.