But when she starts counting her quarters I just have to go out and buy a flyswatter for two hours. While Bess watches her.
She cries when I get back. Then at night she says she's sorry. She doesn't mean it. She says she doesn't know why, she's stupid. I tell her yes, she is stupid. But that it's my turn to be stupid tomorrow.
I like her at night and in the morning. It's the whole middle part.
Tonight I was putting some of her stuff into her newly finished place. I found the box with the baby books and was reading things she and dad wrote about me when I was 2 and 3 and 4, when they were just starting out and they seemed so relaxed, sweet, loving and funny, in the writings. It made all of this mess, the getting the mom mess, the bringing her back mess, the caring for her every minute mess, the brain not functioning mess -- it made me remember who she is, and look for the little glimmers I still see of her every night. Like tonight putting her to bed, she moved over in the bed and said wanna get in?
The pictures and the books made me remember who she is and alllll the time we've spent and everything we've gone through. And when I was bringing stuff in and she was still up she saw me carrying an old chair she's had forever that was in her shed and she hasn't seen it for at least 15 years, she said "that's my CHAIR!!" I put some of her pictures up so tomorrow she's going to be freaking out happy. I know life isn't about the stuff but life is kind of about the stuff. A blanket with a certain pattern, the shape of a chair's back, a pretty colory lamp, a rug she's had for a million years - these bring huge comfort. I feel bad I couldn't bring more of her stuff but there is much familiar, and more unpacking to do in the next few days and I am liking the person I am, the new pretty place she can be and the help I am bringing to her. Because she wrote about me at 2 and 3 and 4 and said
juliet loves to read. she will stop anything if you will read to her.
julie loves horses. julie swims every day and lives in the water.
Knowing and reading that your parents loved you, that far back, and knew you when you didn't even know yourself, and finding the baby book 50 years later, and nothing has changed.
That's comfort. I'm grateful to still have my parents, loving me the way they do, still.
