The Loss
March 30th 2008 01:07
The Loss
Tess blinked back the tears. She couldn't let her mother see her so emotional. Wasn't she always chastised for crying so easily?
But now, in this two bed hospital room, looking at the semi conscious figure on the bed, Tess couldn't think of anything more emotional; more heartbreaking.
Taking her mother's hand in hers, always careful of the intravenous needle taped to her hand, Tess leaned closer and touching her forehead to her mother's whispered, "I love you."
Her tears fell on her mothers face.
Her mother still groggy from her anesthetic from her surgery, raised other hand to stroke Tess's face, "I know, figlia mia."
And Tess's tears fell harder.
And her mother wept, but not from her surgery, but for her loss. "I miss him so much," she whispered through her parched lips. "Just to hear him speak, to see him plant his garden," Tess heard her groan of pain, but didn't move. "At night, I miss his arm around me."
Tess squeezed her eyes shut.
Where Tess feared for her mother's well being; her mother mourned her husband.
How many years had it been that Tess's father passed away?
How many tears had they all shed.
But in reality, their mother was always the strength, telling them all that they needed to get on with life.
Wasn't she the one who felt her mother was cold?
Wasn't she the one who questioned how much her mother really loved her father?
The tears exhausted her mother so much that she fell back into a painful sleep; moaning, but sleeping.
After a while, when Tess heard the rhythmic breathing of sleep from her mother, Tess carefully removed her hand from her mother's grasp and whiping away the tears on both their faces, retrieved her handbag and stood back.
She looked around. Uncomfortable.
The second bed in the room was unoccupied, which was unusual in a public hospital room.
Again, she looked at her mother but this time she didn't see the strong, domineering woman steadfast in her traditional beliefs.
Tess didn't see the woman who's beliefs and faith were so close to her heart that she wasn't adverse to throwing wooden spoons when her children challenged them.
She didn't see the woman who would criticize and bellow from up the street that they had better behave or answer to her!
She didn't see the woman who still had her younger siblings call in with the excuse of saying hello and the reality of asking her for a solution to their latest dilemma.
This time –
This time she saw a woman who loved and was loved; who set a barrier around her heart whenever pain became too great or whenever the wounds threatened to bring her undone.
This time she saw a woman who loved unconditionally the one man that many times pressed all her wrong buttons; said all the wrong things but never left her side.
This time –
This time Tess saw a woman who everyday mourned her loss.
Tess blinked back the tears. She couldn't let her mother see her so emotional. Wasn't she always chastised for crying so easily?
But now, in this two bed hospital room, looking at the semi conscious figure on the bed, Tess couldn't think of anything more emotional; more heartbreaking.
Taking her mother's hand in hers, always careful of the intravenous needle taped to her hand, Tess leaned closer and touching her forehead to her mother's whispered, "I love you."
Her tears fell on her mothers face.
Her mother still groggy from her anesthetic from her surgery, raised other hand to stroke Tess's face, "I know, figlia mia."
And Tess's tears fell harder.
And her mother wept, but not from her surgery, but for her loss. "I miss him so much," she whispered through her parched lips. "Just to hear him speak, to see him plant his garden," Tess heard her groan of pain, but didn't move. "At night, I miss his arm around me."
Tess squeezed her eyes shut.
Where Tess feared for her mother's well being; her mother mourned her husband.
How many years had it been that Tess's father passed away?
How many tears had they all shed.
But in reality, their mother was always the strength, telling them all that they needed to get on with life.
Wasn't she the one who felt her mother was cold?
Wasn't she the one who questioned how much her mother really loved her father?
The tears exhausted her mother so much that she fell back into a painful sleep; moaning, but sleeping.
After a while, when Tess heard the rhythmic breathing of sleep from her mother, Tess carefully removed her hand from her mother's grasp and whiping away the tears on both their faces, retrieved her handbag and stood back.
She looked around. Uncomfortable.
The second bed in the room was unoccupied, which was unusual in a public hospital room.
Again, she looked at her mother but this time she didn't see the strong, domineering woman steadfast in her traditional beliefs.
Tess didn't see the woman who's beliefs and faith were so close to her heart that she wasn't adverse to throwing wooden spoons when her children challenged them.
She didn't see the woman who would criticize and bellow from up the street that they had better behave or answer to her!
She didn't see the woman who still had her younger siblings call in with the excuse of saying hello and the reality of asking her for a solution to their latest dilemma.
This time –
This time she saw a woman who loved and was loved; who set a barrier around her heart whenever pain became too great or whenever the wounds threatened to bring her undone.
This time she saw a woman who loved unconditionally the one man that many times pressed all her wrong buttons; said all the wrong things but never left her side.
This time –
This time Tess saw a woman who everyday mourned her loss.
[ Text and original characters copyright © 2008 by Teresa Strati ]
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Comment by Linh
Celluloid Fun
I really enjoy reading your writing and reckon one day you should get a book published.
Hope you keep on writing. I find it relaxing sometimes. Strangely, I like reading a bit more than writing.
Cheers!