Yesterday it took a long time to get out of a meeting to drive home. Moving air therapy was required, so I had the top down in the mid 80’s sunny weather. As I pulled into the driveway, there was the familiar scene on the front porch: Mom sitting on one chair with her feet propped up, working her crossword puzzles with her afternoon martini.
I drive alongside the porch where I can look up from my little Miata, peer through the waning wisteria vine and over the porch wall. She turns to look at me.
“I’d like a burger and…um…” I look at a pretend menu over Mom’s head as she puts down her glasses.
“Well, uh, do you have root beer?” I begin more loudly. “And I’d like a burger — make that with fries…” and I see her get it and laugh.
So I drive up to the end to park. When I walk back down to the porch, hauling my bags, I pause on the steps. There’s her smile and pain.
“Oh Laura,” she blurts,”I was sitting here feeling sorry for myself and miserable — and you made me feel better.”
I hug her and sit down to hear about her day. And we plan what will be easy for dinner. Mostly I feel glad that I paused that moment in the drive to be goofy.