A fellow Freecycler called tonight, asking for a better description of the item I had listed.
“It’s
white, sports-style, size medium," I told her. "I bought it for my mother, but she passed
away before ever wearing it.” I paused, knowing there would be an appropriate expression of sympathy.
I’m getting
used to those expressions. But I’ll confess that in the aftermath of my mother’s illness and death, I find myself slightly adrift. So much of my life until now has been spent
responding, in some way, to my mother.
As a teenager, I embarrassed Mom with my choice of music or topic of conversation. She embarrassed me by having my latest ex-crush over for a sympathetic ear and fresh cookies.
We clashed over her expectations for me and of me. While at boarding school, I knew which topics to avoid in our weekly radio visits. I also knew what I could get away with - like turning up at my parents’ house unannounced with 17 overnight guests in tow.
This was our brand of normal.
Then, in
the summer before my senior year of high school, the world changed. Dad
was in Africa on mission business. I was in boarding school. Mom
called. Her doctor had just diagnosed her with breast cancer. I
left school that same afternoon, travelled the three hours by bus to my
parents’ town and spent the weekend caring for my mother. The cancer created
a different (but no less complicated), normal.
Over
the decades, we continued to adapt - as families are wont to do. Then just
last month, not quite a year after Dad died, Mom passed away. As my
siblings and I sorted through her things in Indiana, as I removed the last bits
and pieces of her life from the apartment, I noticed an odd vacancy.
“Normal”
had disappeared.
This was
uncharted territory. After 53 years of adapting, I was at the top of the
pyramid. I was The Grown-Up. This did not feel normal. Despite my
theoretical knowledge that this would occur, it was still unexpected.
I mulled
this change on my drive home. I was still pondering when I unpacked my
bags and found something else unexpected.
It seemed I
had accidentally brought home one of the brand-new post-mastectomy bras that
I’d bought for Mom when she was in the hospital. It was still in the
package. I put it aside and listed it last night on Freecycle.
Ergo, the
call from my fellow Freecyler.
Only now, a
split second after murmuring her condolences, this stranger on the phone was
doing a major double-take. “Size medium?” she asked, confused. “Never
before worn?”
Unsure of
what the problem was, I answered, “Yes, a size medium, brand-new
post-mastectomy bra” - which is about when she started laughing. Between
giggles, she explained that she had intended to answer a different post. The
one offering a small rack…
The accidental double entendre caught me off guard. I burst out
laughing as well. As we giggled on the phone like a pair of teenagers, I
was struck by an oddly comforting thought.
I will find my new Normal. And I will never finish growing up.
(c">http://www.canstockphoto.com">(c) Can Stock Photo
