The wheelchair was rolling slowly down the cosmetic aisle as the pretty older lady looked at the vast array of colorful lipsticks, blushes and eyeliners. Touching each item gently and carefully, reading ingredients and creative color names, her lips moved as her eyes darted between Maybelline and L’Oréal.
I may not have noticed her as I made my quick dash into Walmart
to pick up a couple of items, but I could not help but notice the woman, a
younger version of the lady in the chair, standing with arms crossed in
frustration at the end of the aisle.
Obviously, mother and daughter. Both with blue eyes and soft blond hair – one tall
with deep blue eyes the color of ocean water and perfectly styled blond waves. Mother sat straight backed in her wheelchair,
pale eyes avoiding the stare of her daughter while her fingers brushed though
her blond/gray permed curls.
“What are you doing now?” asked the younger version of the wheelchair
bound lady. “I hate it when you roll
away from me and I cannot find you.”
“I’m just looking,” the elder lady said without glancing up
from the tube of red lipstick. “Just
looking.”
The hurried daughter shrugged, grabbed hold of the wheelchair
and steered her mother away from the beauty department. Just as she passed, she looked at me and
rolled her eyes.
Mothers! Her eyes clearly conveyed. What do ya do?
There was so much I wanted to tell her. So much she needed to know.
I wanted to tell her to let her mother “just look” as long
as her heart desired. There will come a
time when you would give anything to take your mama to Walmart – just to look
around.
I wanted to tell her to listen to her mama when she is
talking about things that seem silly or inappropriate or things that she doesn’t
think really matter.
Every. Single. Word. Matters.
I would have told her that those few minutes shopping with her
mama will become some of the best memories she will ever have.
I want her to know that someday her heart will break into a
million pieces – and it will feel like she is walking around with all the extraordinarily
heavy shards of it piled onto her thin shoulders. The grief will be almost too heavy to
bear.
There will be days she will feel like a ghost of herself,
not quite present but visible.
She will someday pull into that Walmart parking lot, sit and
cry for a while and go back home, not even remembering what she came to buy.
She needs to know that the big memories – holidays,
celebrations, family events - these are not the ones that will break your heart
over and over again. It’s the small memories
of everyday life with your mama that will sneak up on you and punch holes in
your soul.
She will look at pictures of herself BEFORE and see a
different person. One that she will never be again.
Nothing will ever be as funny, exciting, sad, or right.
Everything will be BEFORE and AFTER.
Your mama, I wanted to tell her, is the only person that you
have spent your whole life plus 9 months with.
She is the only person who knows you better than you know yourself – and
loves you anyway. Endlessly. Unconditionally.
Loving your mama is both breathtaking and devastating. A
mother-daughter relationship is beautiful and complicated; difficult and
seamless; frustrating and affirming.
Losing her changes your life profoundly.
Even though she is gone forever, your heart will continue to
search for her. In crowds, in old
pictures, in her thousands of keepsakes, cards and letters. Eventually you will
find her again, in the laughter of your children, in family traditions, in
your own reflection.
This lady really needs to know that losing her mama will change her life in so many gut wrenching ways; yet, in this deep well of grief and
sorrow she will find who she was always meant to be.
Her mama’s daughter.
If I could go back, I would grab the pretty lady’s arm, pull
her close and whisper to her, “You don’t know yet, but someday you will
understand that you will never have a relationship with anyone in this world
like the one you have with your mama. Cherish
every single eye-rolling second.”
Instead, I go back to my car forgetting what I went to buy,
and I cry.
I cry big hot tears and then I go home.