I opened the dish towel drawer for the sixth time, hoping the dish towels had somehow magically appeared.
The new towels weren’t there yet, of course.
“What did mom do with them?” I wondered out loud.
I knew they had to be somewhere because I had given them to her for Christmas only a few months ago. Not that towels were that terribly important. It’s just that when you’re expecting guests, you’d like everything to look nice.
Well, maybe he wasn’t going to find them. On the other hand, the guests would not arrive until tomorrow. Plenty of time to worry about dish towels later.
On second thought, maybe I should ditch the towels altogether. My father’s niece and her husband didn’t seem like the kind of people who would walk away angry that her host hadn’t brought out new tea towels.
Whats Next?
Maybe I’d better see if I can get my hands on Mom’s best tablecloth. A tablecloth had always been one of the things my mother insisted on when we had visitors.
I went to the drawer where Mom kept the tablecloths and, sure enough, there it was.
But when I pulled out the hand-embroidered tablecloth, the one that had taken her months to complete, I gasped in dismay. Right in the middle was a large stain. Now how the hell did mom’s best tablecloth end up with a stain?
Oh yes, that’s right. We’d all been here for Christmas, and one of the kids had accidentally knocked over a glass of soda. Seeing her granddaughter crying with remorse had been more important than her tablecloth, and her mom had said that she was sure the pop would come out of it when she washed it.
Okay, so it seemed like I’d have to forget about the tablecloth, too. Maybe I’d be better off taking care of the important stuff right now, like vacuuming.
Satisfied that I was finally going to make some progress, I pulled out the vacuum cleaner.
Except. . .Why did he sound so funny? And why wasn’t he picking up those papers from the living room rug?
I pulled out the accessory hose and flipped the switch again. Ah ha. That’s why. No suction. The hose was clogged.
Well, OF COURSE the hose was clogged. I couldn’t find the new dish towels. Mom’s best tablecloth had a big stain on it. Why wouldn’t the vacuum hose be clogged?
And right at that moment, I started crying. Now what was I going to do? Would a wire hanger work? Thirty minutes later, however, the vacuum cleaner was still covered.
Where was dad? He knew he was out and was probably lounging in his garden, since it was the middle of April, but why wasn’t he here when I needed him? After being a farmer for 50 years, he could fix absolutely anything.
Just at that moment, my father entered the house.
“What happen?” she asked her, noticing that she had been crying.
Even though it had been years since I called him “Dad”, it just slipped out and along with it came more tears.
“Oh, Dad, I can’t find the new dish towels. The tablecloth has a big stain on it. The vacuum is clogged. And–“
I stopped and swallowed hard.
“I miss my mother”.
There. I had said it
And in that instant, the whole world seemed to stop as Dad took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“I know you do,” he said. “I also.”
You see, just three weeks earlier, my mother had been diagnosed with advanced gallbladder cancer. Mom died Saturday night, and this was Monday. My father’s niece and her husband were driving 275 miles to attend the funeral and would be staying at the house.
As Dad watched me, I noticed how much he seemed to have aged in the last few weeks. And her face was covered with a silver beard. It was a rare morning when my father didn’t shave, but the last couple of days had been far from normal.
“And you know what?” Dad continued. “You will always MISS your mother. In fact, she will never completely go away. Not even when you are as old as I am.”
Dad was 70 years old. I was 26. I never met daddy’s mother. She had died before I was born.
Mom had contracted polio in 1942 when she was 26 years old and was paralyzed in both legs. At that time, the doctors had told her that she would never have any more children. I was born 16 years later.
After the funeral was over and my father’s relatives went home, I found the kitchen towels. Mom had put them in her dresser drawer. And with several washes, the stain on the tablecloth finally came out. Dad had also been able to fix the vacuum cleaner.
But nothing could fix the fact that my mother was gone.
Mom died in 1985, and all these years later, I realize Dad was right: I will always miss her.
But I also discovered what else he was trying to tell me that April day so long ago: that missing my mother keeps her alive in my heart.
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