It’s been a couple of weeks since I left the mountains. I’m on a redeye from Hawaii right now, though. I thought this was a good idea before they moved in with me, to plan this family trip while my mom is still kind of here, because Hawaii is familiar to her. To the more ancient her, the her when she was a working mother to my sister and I, a tireless wife to our dad, and the islands were an escape, a reward, a small breath of softer air.
Maybe she’d remember.
Almost three decades have passed since we’ve been there as a family, just the four of us, so I arranged to surprise my parents with my sister’s arrival. She showed up in the late afternoon on Thursday, while my mom and dad were sitting on their lanai, watching the ocean. My dad fought back tears, and the incredulous look on my mom’s face told me that she thought maybe she was seeing things, and wondered if another part of her mind was leaving her.
And a few minutes later she said something that will stay with me forever, even thought it will probably turn out not to be true.
I forget things. But I won’t forget this.
Over the next several days, my mom yelled at my dad’s driving, like she always did. She looked disapprovingly at the not-quite-dressed women eating at the table next to us, like she always did. She put her lipstick on before going anywhere, like she always did.
She did a lot of things with just the four us, like she always did.
Which is why a single tear just dropped from my cheek to the open tray table, where this laptop is like a compass, these words like a needle, helping me navigate through these darkening clouds.