Memory Lane

One of my most lucid childhood memories has returned with a lesson in foresight. I recall each endearing moment - believing the events experienced on that perfect Wednesday would never be repeated - until now.

The Past

The day was extraordinary, beginning the moment Mom appeared at the doorway to my kindergarten classroom. Mid-day sunlight flooded the space and had her back while carving her silhouette. A halo of windswept curls crowned her mystifying radiance - immediately transforming every five-year old non-believer into once-in-a-lifetime beholders of my fairy godmother.

She was the most beautiful Mom in the world, and like every other day, she was dressed for success. The night before, I selected her favorite pleated turquoise dress with a long silky skirt that fluttered like a Japanese fan as a rogue breeze swirled around her.

I was validated by her presence at Lunch with Parents day. The stay-at-home moms were seated and beyond introductions by the time she arrived. I often wished I were one of the lucky kids with daily pick-ups and drop-offs. Lingering outside the classroom granted perks, including light-hearted interactions with Sister Mary Bernadette, another sharp-dressing influencer from my childhood. Looking back, I was the lucky kid.

Each day, after the dismissal bell rang, I met my sister, Janis, and my cousin at the bike rack and followed them to Nanan's house, either on foot or by riding my embarrassing training-wheel bicycle. Janis was a geeky third grader who excelled in school, and our youngest sibling was well into her terrible twos while being cared for by Nanan - Mom's big sister by a decade.

Like Nanan, Mom left home at a young age. Neither of them could be contained within the city limits of a sleepy, one stoplight town. Nanan was first to set her sights on the Big Easy. Within a few years, she was running a small lunch diner, and sent for Mom to join her. Nanan became Mom's guardian while also facing her own challenges as a young entrepreneur, wife, and mother. Mom adapted quickly to high school in the big city, graduating with salutatorian honors.

Good fortune continued to grace Mom's path as she walked down the street and met the man of her dreams. They spent many afternoons courting on Nanan’s front porch swing before Dad joined the Army and Mom pursued her career. They married in a small ceremony after he finished serving overseas.

Prior to, in between, and forever after giving birth to three girls, Mom worked in the bustling central business district of New Orleans. Most weekday mornings began early, with Dad dropping her off at work and delivering us to Nanan’s house before clocking into his job. By the end of the day, he would return to gather us all up and arrive home safely before sunset.

On that special Wednesday, Mom left work before lunch and took the city bus and connecting streetcar to my school on Napoleon Avenue. Her visit included a personal tour of the classroom, mommy talk with other moms, and school talk with Sister Mary Bernadette - the boss teacher that instilled and nurtured my love affair with words. I took joy in watching Mom play with her food like a kindergartener when we ate in the cafeteria. They served spaghetti that day and we both knew all she really wanted was a fresh cup of coffee.

Class dismissed early, so we frolicked hand-in-hand for a few blocks and detoured through my favorite park. I recall how special she made me feel as we skipped down shady oak-lined paths, pretending fairies were watching us from inside the trees. Mom introduced me to bunnies and a tiger peeking out from the luminous, shape-shifting clouds as she pushed my airborne swing higher, ever higher - until my toes touched the sky. For the first time, I had Mom - in my park and all to myself.

I remember how my joy turned to sadness and increased as each step brought us closer to Nanan’s house - ground zero that day. We reached the final curb on Danielle Street, and as Mom paused to look both ways, I squeezed her hand and dug my heals into the pavement. She was surprised by my pouty frown.

“What's wrong, Sweetie?”

"Momma, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure.”

“Will there ever be a day when you don’t have to go to work, and I don’t have to go to school, and we can do fun things like we did today and be together all the time?”

Mom's brow wrinkled as she bent down, looked directly into my woeful eyes, and embraced my sunken shoulders. She took a deep breathe and exhaled, as if absorbing and erasing my worry, before flashing one of her trademark grins. It's the kind of grin that makes you believe she holds all the important answers. She had me at the grin, but went on to offer so much more wisdom - the kind of wisdom that inspired me to pursue my lifelong creative passions.

“Yes, there will be days like that - one day. But not yet. Right now, I must keep working, and you need to go to school to learn as much as you can. It will come in handy when you are my age.”

I remember her saying it with such conviction that I knew I could trust the answer.

The Present

I am drawn to the beauty of a perfect Wednesday. A friendly wizard emerges from luminous shape-shifting clouds to share a mug of morning elixir. Highly-respected mature oak trees reach out to greet each other with a shady handshake. Their leafy fingers entwine to form a magical canopy of diffused emerald-white light that resident fairies succumb to.

Like most mornings, I watch for Mom’s bedroom blinds to open, giving her a few moments to collect her thoughts before I greet her. To avoid morning confusion, I select her outfit. She favors any shade of turquoise. In 1965, she convinced Dad to paint their bedroom a vibrant shade of aquamarine – the color of tropical swimming pools.

While waiting for her to dress, I dig my knees into her bedroom carpet - ground zero for the day’s first chore. Noticing Mom's slippers in front of me, I look up to her glazed eyes - frozen onto a photo of her and Dad. She could have chosen any of a dozen framed pictures filled with happy memories on display. The one she holds is unique because it embraces their entire love story - from fortunate beginning to bitter-sweet end.

The Photograph

Their last photo together fittingly captures a shared moment on a swing at the home of Nanan's oldest son, Alan. Within those final fragments of time, Alan strolled down memory lane and told of a time when his favorite aunt and coolest uncle spent much of their early courtship on his mom's front porch swing. Their silent response was mutual and remains priceless.

The image was taken just hours after we buried our beloved Nanan and precious moments before Dad left Mom’s side forever. He died instantly of an abdominal aortic aneurism, minutes after driving Mom, my youngest sister, her daughter and his three great granddaughters back from the post-funeral gathering. It was his final patriarchal act, and like the countless days from our youth, he arrived home safely before sunset.

My bond with Dad remains timeless, as he passed on my birthday. I was with him most of that day as he supported Mom but refused to watch Nanan's cold body be laid to her final rest. Although I was not by his side during his last moments, I felt his presence and gentle goodbye kiss as it pressed against my tear-stained cheek. Moments before my sister called to say he was gone, I was inexplicably overcome with sorrow and goosebumps while relaxing before a beachfront sunset at our favorite spot. It remains the most profoundly sad day of my life.

* * * * * * * *

Mom's wrinkled forehead tells me she is confused.

“I remember him. I miss him. Where is he now? When can we be together again?”

Ground zero is no longer the stained carpet. I take a deep breathe and wrap my arm around Mom’s concaved shoulders while considering my answer. Her lost eyes find mine.

“I miss Dad too. You are so fortunate to have enjoyed so many happy times together until the moment he left us unexpectedly that day. Look how happy he was while sitting beside you on the swing. I'm certain you will see him and swing together again one day."

Her mood switches from confused to somber as she realizes he is gone. Suddenly, she is reliving her grief. Instinctively, I resort to one of her old tactics. With a look that must be linked to my DNA through genetic code, I break into one of her legendary grins and draw from her boss mom savvy.

“But not today. Right now, you need to change into the Turquoise Fairy Godmother. There is a cloud wizard with coffee and a few fairies waiting outside.”

Mom glances at one of her favorite aqua blouses and pants laying across the seat of her chair, then at me. Reassured by my answer, she smiles back with her all-knowing grin and whispers,

"Okay."