Present day 1997
I sat and watched my father for hours as he worked on our roof with my husband, all too eager to grab whatever tool they might need or frequent the kitchen for more bottles of water to keep them going. Was I ten again? I laughed at myself in the kitchen on my third trip to deliver sustenance to my two favorite men, shaking my head at what seemed so childish. Oh, I have really lost it! I am a 26-year-old married woman and mother of three, and to this day, I am still my father’s little girl. Being this happy when my dad is near even makes my husband smile and shake his head in amusement.
"Hey Kiddo", my hubby mimics my dad while winking at him, do you think you might make some dinner soon?"
I shot back an evil eye as I put my hands on my hips and smiled, as if to say ”Really?”
"Should I push him off the roof now or later, Katie-pie?" my father chides.
"Later, maybe…just be careful up there and I’ll call you in when dinner is ready."
I hear my father’s laughter as I make my way around the house, and I can do nothing but smile and love him a bit more every day.
I decided to gather up my mom and the kids in the garden. My mother is tending to my tomatoes, the size of grapefruit with a taste that bursts into your mouth, with warmth and sweetness that causes you to close your eyes and smile.
My mother is in her J.Jill jeans, Dad’s sweatshirt, and her Docksiders from the early 80's. She looks adorable. She has a scarf pulling back her blonde hair, reminiscent of Grace Kelly. She has next-to-no makeup on, except for her Revlon Naked Pink lipstick, which she has worn forever. I don't know what she'll do if they ever discontinue that color. I remember taking sips of her Tab when I was a kid and seeing her lipstick marks on the lip of the can. It had a strong perfumey taste, and oddly, despite my hating the combination of lipstick and soda, I always took a sip. Maybe it was the fact that we weren’t ever allowed more than a taste of any soda, coffee, wine, or beer which made that one sip something you’d grab, even if you really could have cared less. You just weren’t going to miss the chance to have what the grownups had.
She smells of Chanel and looks as beautiful today as she did in her wedding album, an album I had thumbed through so often, as a kind of bedtime story when I was little. White tents filled with twinkle lights, candles, and fancy tables covered in white linens in Grand mom’s back yard overlooking the ocean. It was magical and it was what I dreamed my wedding day would be like when I grew up.
She has been stable for almost eleven years, not counting the year we all fell apart from losing Sam. We are all so thankful for her recovery and proud of her strength. Since then she has remained on her medicine and is still seeing her psychiatrist monthly.
I am particularly proud of my father for never walking away or giving up on her through those years and all of the craziness they carried, for staying as constant as a rock for us, especially when we needed his courage the most. Unlike most of my other friends’ parents who had split up, mine were still quite happily together. I remember one conversation in particular, when I asked my father if he ever thought about leaving her and taking us with him.
“It was never an option Kate. I loved your mother more than life and I knew one day she'd come back to me, back to us, and she did." This conversation played in my head as I moved towards my garden.
Now she was a dreamy grandmother who refused to be called grandma, which was for "old people!" she said…and so she was Mom-mom and that suited us all just fine.
My little love beans are busy moving rocks and trying to keep on the oversized gardening gloves that Mom-mom has given them. They feel like big helpers and have such a seriously delightful glee about them. Will, named after my father, is six, and he loves everything about nature and being busy. Gillian, named after my grandmother, is four-and-a-half and the spitting image of me; she is all too eager to please and is always humming when she is busy with a project. She has this adorable habit of chewing on her tongue when in concentrating deeply. It just kills me. And Peter; Peter is three years old. He is our little Buddha, always taking in everything around him with such joy that it causes one to stop and watch with contagious wonder. They have melted my heart and I love every minute of being their mom.
"Mom, do you and Dad want to stay for dinner, or do you think Dad might get too tired?" Dad had a fainting spell a few weeks ago that ended up being nothing more than a sugar crash, but it scared the hell out of me nonetheless.
"Stop worrying about him Kate, he's fit as a fiddle. Dinner would be wonderful. What can I do to help?"
"Not a thing Mom, just come on in and have some tea while I get the kids in the bath."
"Come on lovies!" My mother reaches out to Will to pull her up as she moans a bit from her achy back.
"Oh boy Willow, your Mom-mom is stiff." Will pats the dirt off the back of her jeans and smiles. “
Gillian bops over in her tutu and frog boots, wiggles her index finger in a ‘come here’ motion, then takes each of her sweet cherub hands and cradles my mother’s cheeks. She looks my mother seriously in the face and whispers closely, “You’re not old Mom-mom, you just get extra crinkly when you smile, don’t worry.” Gilly then mimics what she thinks it looks like. I laugh as my mother kisses her and says, “Well thank you, dear. I feel so much better now that you told me.”
"What’s ‘sniff’?” says Peter, as he follows the erratic flight of a nearby butterfly.
We all chuckle as I wrap him up in my arms and kiss under his sweet full cheeks. I linger there and inhale his sweet smell of dirt, basil, and baby. I catch a glance of my mother placing her hand over her heart, as she knows exactly how much my heart is swelling. We smile at one another and all move our way to the back door, an old wooden door that creaks as you open it and slams shut when you let it go. I swear I smile every time I hear it.
