“Mommy, where is daddy going?”
"Away."
My mother didn't turn away from the sink as she washed dishes. The sun streamed
in through the kitchen window making her hair shine as if made from gold.
I
ran to the door. "Daddy!"
Daddy stopped, put down
his suitcase, turned to me. "Come here." He knelt down on one knee,
opening his arms.
I rushed to him and
threw my chubby little arms around his neck. Patting the blond curls atop my
head, he kissed my face and told me to be a good girl. I kissed him back and
begged him not to go. I held his hand tight between my two small ones as he
walked to the door.
"Good-bye,
baby." Daddy didn't look at me.
"Bye, daddy."
I followed him out the door and watched from my seat on the stoop as he put his
suitcase in the trunk of the car then climbed behind the wheel.
The car engine roared
with anger. I winced at how loud it sounded.
I waved.
Daddy waved back. Then
he was gone.
"Please don't go,
daddy." I whispered.
A
dark evening, twenty-eight years later, my son said, "Mommy, where is
daddy going?"
I heard the question but
didn't know how to answer. I cuddled my little boy close. I breathed deep of
his special baby smell trying to commit it to memory. I wanted to block out the
rest of the day and only remember this one single moment holding my son close to my heart.
"I'm packed."
I looked up to see my
husband with a suitcase in his hand and a garment bag over his shoulder.
I nodded, afraid to use
my voice.
"Daddy, please
don't go."
My husband knelt down to
absently brush away a wisp of golden hair from my son's forehead. "I have
to, son." He patted his arm. "You be a big boy and take care of
mommy."
Such a large load of
responsibility for a tiny boy. I pulled him back into the safety of my arms. I
whispered into his ear, "We'll take care of each other."
He snuggled closer. “You
promise you won’t leave?” He asked with his child-like innocence.
“Never. Ever.” I crossed
my heart. “We’ll be together forever.”
He turned in my arms and
buried his face in my bosom. I held him tight as his father walked out the
door. In the tiniest whisper, I heard him say, “Daddy, please don’t go.”
One day, thirty years
later, I couldn’t stop myself from crying out, "Oh, mama, please don't
go!" I held her fragile hand
tightly in mine. The sun shone through the bedroom window and created a soft
halo of light around her head. Her pale, white hair luminescent against the
pillow.
"Hush, darling.
It's my time." My mama whispered the words as I leaned closer to hear her.
"I'm going to miss
you so much. Don't leave me."
"I'll never leave
you." She ran her fingers through my hair like she did when I was a child.
"I'll always be with you." Her bony fingers shook as she touched my
chest, above my left breast. "Right here." Mama drew a shallow breath
and sighed. "Always."
Tears swam in my eyes as
I watched my mother take her last breath.
"Oh, mama, please
don't go." I whispered.
For as long as I could,
I breathed in and out, hoping to never hear my son cry out those lonely words.
I lost the battle seventeen years later.
“Mama,
please don’t go!”
My
son had grown into a tall, handsome man. I loved him so much. My heart, heavy
in my chest, ached for him. “Don’t cry, baby.”
“Mama,
you can’t leave. You promised to be with me forever.” His face, although lined
with age, still held a boyish glow in the afternoon sun that streamed in from
the window across from my bed.
“Darling,
How could I ever leave my baby boy?” I touched his beautiful face. I held tight
to my delicate grasp on life. I pulled him close to my chest and lay his head
on a bosom long dried and useless. I gently brushed at the lock of sandy hair
that continued to fall over his brow. His tears pierced through my thin cotton
gown, straight into my heart.
“I
love you, mama.” My son sobbed has he held me tighter than I could ever hold
him again.
“I’m
sorry, son.”
“For
what, mama?” He hiccupped then took a deep breath.
As
I closed my eyes, I gently touched his strong hand with mine. “For breaking my
promise.”
The End
