Observing my mother's death day
This is the day my mother died.
Years ago.
They didn't tell me until months later, long after she'd become a pile of ash
Illicitly dug into the plot
Where her mother and father were.
That plot - the one that caused a rift with the church.
Not consecrated, the priest said. I can't bury you there.
Didn't God make this piece of land, just like the piece behind your fence? my mother asked.
My child, you don't understand, he said.
I understand too well, my mother said,
and we became Protestants.
My mother was smart. She did the kind of word puzzles that I find hard, just like her mother
who won a plot of land doing word games in Il Progresso. And that's where they built a house, and raised my mother's other daughters.
I liked math.
I remember the grape arbor
and not much else. When we visited 30 years later
I felt like a stranger
but my sister looked at the changes the new owners had made
and she remembered where everything had been.
My other sister is dead
and this one might be, too, for all I know. No one would call me, I think.
Because I was the one who couldn't stay in one place
and now I'm in California. That seems to confuse them.
I didn't know
that this was also a legacy from you, mom - along with the ADD, it's pretty clear now
why you hated all the social stuff
why you married the most social man in the world
who made friends anywhere he was, instantly
and why you hated to go out of the house.
What a mismatch!
But no one knew then
that people like us -
you and me, mom -
never understood the social game
even though we learned to play it.
Back then, we were introverts
but now there's a new, improved label, and we might have Asperger's syndrome.
Somehow, I feel better with this label
and maybe I don't have to try so hard to fit in
because I never will
and now that I understand that
I can relax
and they can all dislike me.
Love the sinner and hate the sin, they say
but here's no sin in just being who you are
so you're not under any obligation to love me.
Maybe in the next life
I will be more “normal”
and better able to meet expectations,
and will keep friends for more than a few years
and live in one city for a long time
and hold down the same job all my life
But I hope not
because I’d die of boredom.
Sorry, Mom, that I didn't know all this while you were alive
but today, I say thanks. Now I know why you never hugged me
and always seemed so far away. I've come to that same place. The view's not bad.
There's a cat
plants on the patio
good food to cook.
No one to share with
So, mom - come sit at my table some times
Enjoy the plants on the patio
Pet the cat.
Better late than never.
And maybe when my son is 70
And I've been gone a long time
Maybe he'll forgive me, too,
and leave a space for me
at the table. You come, too.