Sunday morning

I stopped in to see Mom this morning, armed with some dwarf daffodils and a variegated poinsettia. Mom was awake and admired the flowers. I took them to her room and we sat a while and talked about nothing. I looked over and there was a tear in the corner of her eye.

"I don't know why I always cry when you come," she said.

"I don't know, Mom." We sat for a little. I held her hand.

"I should go to bed," she said. I offered to help her get there and she said "oh, no, I can do it." We sat a little longer.

"I have to get back to work," Mom said.

I gave her a kiss goodbye. Whatever it was she thought we were doing was over. I could have said "I know why you're crying, Mom." That would have been more honest. I know that she saw me for a moment and realized that we were here in this place, acting out our parts in the dread scene she never wanted to play. The idea was gone fast as it came.

Leaving only a tear in the corner of an eye.