A Conversation with Mom
Artwork by @justjessdoing_jessthings
This piece was written as an exercise in dialogue for a writing class assignment:
“I really wish you were here to see this.” I say under my breath as I stretch my arms over my head sitting back on my chair. With the morning sun hitting my face, I feel something close to joy as it’s warmth spreads throughout my body.
“It looks a little different since the last time I was here.” My mother replies. My mother?
This is my fourth week working from home, it might be the fifth week of California’s Stay-at-Home order, and this is my third week in which I haven’t gone outside to walk. We endured a rainstorm all of last week which meant the windows were closed as well as the balcony door. I felt extremely shut in. So, when the weather forecast promised sunshine for this week, I felt elated. Sure enough, early in the week we were blessed with sunlight and some warmth.
That first day I stepped out onto my balcony garden and I saw the huge mess the storm had left. I went to work, happy for the task. Two days later, feeling satisfied I thought, “Tomorrow, I’ll bring a chair out and sit here for a few minutes to start the day.” So, this morning at 7:15, I took a chair out and placed it directly where the sun was hitting, I sat down with my eyes closed with my arms outstretched over my head. When I hear her voice, I don’t open my eyes because I don’t want to break the spell. “You mean because there is room for a chair?” I reply with eyes wide shut.
I hear her smile in response, “Yes, there are less plants now.” We sit in silence for a moment. “So why did you get rid of so many?”
“It wasn’t sustainable ma. I felt so overwhelmed. I didn’t know how much water to give them all, then I couldn’t remember how much water I had given them the week before. How did you keep track of them all?”
“Did you feel the dirt for dampness with your fingers?” she asks.
“Yes ma.” I breathe out. Whenever she had asked me to water her plants in the past, this had always been her advice.
“That’s how I knew.” She said simply. We sit in silence again and hear the gentle breeze flow through the plants surrounding us. Each plant makes its own unique sound in reaction to the wind.
“The plants I gave away, I made sure went to people who loved you and loved plants.” I finally say, full of shame.
“That’s good. What about the trees?”
“It’s there in the corner.”
“What about the other one?”
I feel my throat tighten, “I couldn’t find anyone for that one ma, I’m sorry.” My eyes feel hot, “I put it outside on the sidewalk and watched it everyday to see when someone would take it. I even watered it.” I finish lamely.
“You just left it there?”
“Yes,” I sob quietly, “but one day it was gone. I’m sure someone took it.”
“It’s okay Jimmy.” She says but I still feel as though I have let her down. Another moment of silence. The sun has started to roast my face and I’m becoming uncomfortably warm but I don’t dare move or even open my eyes.
“But look at the ones that are here ma, look at how they’ve grown.” It’s true, the plants that have remained have grown beyond my wildest imagination. I thought that under my care, the plants would have died within the first year after my mom’s death but instead they have thrived and have even begun to overwhelm me.
“Si mijito, they are beautiful.”
“Remember how you always wanted to take pictures on Saturdays, out here in the garden?” I ask. Again, I hear her smile. “I wish we could take a picture now.” I say.
“Not today, but someday soon we will.”
This time I am the one to smile. I finally open my eyes and look around me. There is so much life in this garden! How could I feel as though I’ve let my mom down? I too have changed a lot since she’s been gone and I’ve also grown, grown in ways I could’ve never imagined before. I know she’s proud of me, I just need to be reminded every once in a while.
I stand up and take a final breath before heading back inside. “I guess you are always here to see this.” I think to myself and laugh out loud as I head inside.