A WAY HOME

Bali's in the dentist's chair. Pretty cool dude for a first visit!

Mommy telephoned. She was lonesome and wondered if she could come and visit with the boys before going into work at 11 PM. My son had told me to expect her call; she had mentioned it to him when they met at the dentist a couple of days previous. The two oldest rug rats had ‘first ever’ appointments, and one parent was there for each of them.

They are cooperating well, especially for the children, and I didn’t want to throw a wrench into the works, even if my son told me it was my decision to allow her to come or not. My only worry was how the boys would react when she would leave without them, and I said as much to her on the phone. She would be there for bath time and would put them to bed; they would be sleeping before her departure, she reassured me.

“Then why don’t you join us for supper?” I invited. “Jo will be at his job, so there will be only us and the kids.” The rug rats were excited when they heard the news; mommy was coming! Man, how I remember that feeling from my own childhood! I can also remember my Mom telling me how ill at ease she felt whenever our foster mother would correct us in her presence.

With this in mind, I decided that I would leave my ex DIL alone with the boys after our meal. Bali only confirmed that my decision was a good one by being bold, thinking that he could get away with it in front of his mommy. When he stood on the chair during our meal, his mother asked him politely to sit. Bali ignored her as usual, grinning at her, then glancing in my direction to see if I would dare do something about it. My expression when I stood up to approach him told him that yep, Mémère is a daring old thing. He sat down immediately. I caught a glimpse of his mom’s face, her eyes downcast, and my heart went out to her.

“I have some errands to run,” I said, “so if you don’t mind, I’ll go now while I have the chance.” I sensed her disappointment, even though she agreed, and realized that she had counted on chatting to me too. I quickly told her that I would return around the hour the boys go to bed; we could have coffee together. That girl has one sweet smile, and my statement put me on the receiving end of it. I was reminded how much I care for her.

Later, she attempted to explain her views on the why and what of the separation. I listened, and I understood. I also encouraged her to pull out her easels and brushes and immerse herself in something she loves to do, but had put aside in the hustle bustle of ordinary life. We talked about how an artist is special; an artist can only flourish when practicing art, otherwise something inside shrivels and dies. I told her she was blessed with rare talent. “What you are living now calls for you to get back into it. I expect you’ll find yourself there, as my son will find himself again in his music. You are both fortunate because you know the boys are okay here in the meantime. Not everyone has the chance; don’t let it go by.” She nodded then divulged her hope.

“Maybe one day Jo and I will find each other again,” she said wistfully. “And what we’ll have will be stronger.” Maybe, I thought. And maybe not. We hugged each other when she left, and neither of us was dry-eyed.

I was beside my son last night when he called her, wanting to know what time I should bring the rug rats over for their weekend. She didn’t answer the phone immediately. When she did, I heard him ask if she was okay. He got the information he wanted, ended the conversation, then turned to tell me, “She was painting. She has carried all her materials into the sunroom, and is working on a canvas she began a long time ago.”

“Good!” I said.

‘Yup,” he replied. And we both SMILED.

Luv from the Bush in Quebec