Pale Blue

She's reaching for the tissue. She keeps grabbing at the box like it will be full again....The momentary surprise every time when she realizes again that there's only that one left. The same one she's drenched already....Wiping her eyes again. Behind that pale blue....She's laughing outwardly. So strong....but ever longing.

She's pregnant with his baby. He's overseas at war. He writes her love letters, sends her his best wishes. She can't even remember what his face looks like. Jumped right into this barely a year ago. And they were too young, but she made the commitment. And she was always so damn stubborn.

The baby came. The first in over twenty years in that house. Of course, the magic followed, and everyone was in love. Too young and naive still to handle this. Her mother handled most of it....I have to crack a smile, and a tear wells in my eye when she pleasantly....dejectedly tells me, "But I did, at least, get to hold him....sometimes...."

I watch her reach for the tissue again. That soft, resonating pale blue is drowning. My interior sea green is just feeling the pressure....I know where my blue comes from, though. It's always surrounding me. And now I know how I've been influenced. As I watch her break bit by bit....and show me sides I've never seen.

She tells me that her husband came back. And he was a man of his word....much like her father. Her father only wore suits when he went to funerals. She told me I would have liked him. Her husband came back, and they were leaving Atlanta, taking the baby with them. The first time he met his father. Three years old. He'd been walking since he was one. Those same legs carried him all the way to California later. But for now, they left Atlanta.

Barely even a week later, a green truck pulled in the driveway. It was her dad. He told her, "I'm here to take my boy."

What else could she do? She let him go with his grandfather. She got him back a few days later, and this cycle continued until her father died.

Until her father died.

One night in a hospital bed when his wife asked him, "Are you right with God?" He told her he'd made his peace, and that was all she needed to hear. He may have never been a publicly affectionate man, but at least he was a thoughtful one.

One night in a hospital bed.

His daughter came crashing through the door, knowing this was it. She wouldn't let her mother in. Every ounce of blood in him found its way out somehow. She watched him cough and sputter and convulse in agony for what seemed like hours. He never did anything in his life to deserve something so terrible....We'd all like to have a happy ending.

Later, the doctor told them the cancer had traced its way to a major artery. And it was a race to the surface for his lifeblood after that, as if a prize was awaiting his plasma at the end of the run....There was. Liberation. The doctor again speaks and ensures them all that it was over for him in a matter of seconds. He tells them anything he can to comfort them.

He was sixty-five years old. And she tells me I really would have liked him. She reaches for the tissue. And I wish that tears could stay warm longer. Because the cold around my eyes leaves me feeling empty. Leaves me feeling like I wish I could have been there to help. But I couldn't.

She made it through on her own. The strongest woman I know.

Now she has children of her own. She has grandkids. She has a lifetime of regret. She stays strong. And for eighteen years, I never guessed. And if I could go back, I would thank her for every moment she put her children above herself. For every thought and concern. The way she sheltered us all so long from the storms that she knew we'd have to face someday....Someday on our own. She knew they were coming, and all this while I thought she'd damaged me. But now I know she made damn sure that I was ready. And I don't think I can ever express my gratitude or thank her enough.

And I don't want to think about when she's gone. Because I love her more than even I can ever know.

My exterior blue is washed away. And I'm carried away downstream wondering how this all began. And if I'll be able to live up to this. Will I love as much as she does?

She tells me she loves me and threatens to cut my legs off again so that she can hold me.

I've gotten far too big for her....

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I don't ever want her to feel that way.

- (This isn't autobiographical)