“Mark
called,” my mother said without looking up from her crossword puzzle the moment
I got home from work.
“Oh?” A
rush of love coursed through me. I couldn’t keep from smiling. My first born.
“He’s
getting married.”
Panic
obliterated the rush of love. The urge to wail rose in my throat.
I gulped
and croaked, “When?”
“They
haven’t set a date.”
“No. I
meant when did he call?”
“About
an hour ago.”
“Oh.”
That certainly didn’t give me time to intercede. I was in Detroit, Michigan, Mark
was in Mobile, Alabama, and I could be reasonably sure his relationship with
his future bride was longer than an hour old.
“What’s
her name?”
“He
didn’t say.”
I looked
at her in utter exasperation. Swedes can be so cryptic. “I hope she’s not some
barefoot cutie he found in a field picking cotton,” I muttered as I punched in
my son’s phone number.
My
mother lifted her brilliantly white coif and smiled. “I have a picture of you
doing that very thing.”
“Mom! That
picture was taken in Texas more than four decades ago. I was three-years old.”
“And
your point is?”
“Hi,” I
said when I heard the lilt of Mark’s baritone reverberate in my ear. “Grandma
said you called.” My voice trailed into thin air because I was still choking on
the “m” word.
“Mom, are
you sitting down?”
The word
“No!” strobed like a neon sign in the back of my head.
My legs
couldn’t hold me, and I collapsed onto a kitchen chair. “I am, now.” I leaned
my forehead in my hand. It’s true, I thought. My baby’s getting married. “Grandma
says you might have some wonderful news.”
“No
might about it, I’m getting married.”
I remember that I was a blathering idiot for several minutes after those words. But the marriage was and is perfect, as is the daughter-in-law. But if I hadn't found that piece of journal, the exact memory would have been lost. Do you journal? Have you used the memories in a story? Let me know, won't you?
You all-guys keep on keeping on, and I'll try to do the same.
cj
PS: The picture of a Dauphin Island, AL, beach sunset is by Jeff D. Johnston
