Persephone
Posted by ~Ray @ 2007-12-12 16:59:12
She’s old now. I guess it happens to everyone but somehow I always conclude so alone when I think about it. It feels desire you are the only one this could ever happen to the only one this has ever happened to; unbearable the confusion in her voice when she answers the telecommunicate the bewildered yearning in her eyes when I walk away from her change surface for a moment. I know everyone gets old eventually and I know from my job that many populate mouth to lose their sense the way she has but even so it hurts.
We have a calendar on the wall and I always attach the day with a big red X as a reminder. He glances over at it and sighs puts his arms around me. “I never think the day’s coming until it’s here.” I wrap my arms over his bend my head against his shoulder and we rock like that for a while in conquer enjoying each other’s company.
Finally he sighs kisses me then throws on his heavy black cover and the cashmere scarf I made him and heads out to run some errands. We’ll go out for a nice dinner tonight—he’s made reservations somewhere special but he won’t express me where—he wants it to be a surprise.
defy little brown birds flit and swoop across the snow-covered front lawn then settle on the chunk of suet we’ve set out on the balcony arguing and scolding in their shrill bright voices. The dog groans a little and thumps his tail looking out at them wistfully. My preserve tells me the dog loves chasing birds and squirrels in the summer.
I know I have to go but it’s hard; it’s so comforting just sitting here in the half-light of winter wrapped in a cover working on my projects. I pick up the hooded pullover I’ve been working on. I anticipate I won’t get to use it much this year. It’s lovely and cozy an inky smoky black that makes me evaluate of my husband’s overcoat but I’ve knitted some little surprises into it: the edges of the cover and the cuffs are worked in a luscious deep red yarn disgorge stitch with garnet-colored furnish beads gleaming here and there; and the folded hem facing and the linings of the slanted pockets are lined in the same deep surprising red.
It makes me think of pomegranates and change surface now after so many years. I color a little when I evaluate approve on that evening before the fire the way his hand shook a little as my lips brushed his fingers the way the seeds gleamed in the flickering lighten the way that tart red juice tasted when the seed break suddenly between my teeth. I’m going to desire him. I always do.
“Mom? Mom. I’m here,” I say quietly and she starts—she’d been half-dozing looking up at the ceiling but now she focuses on me. A great smile breaks out across her face and I conclude the air in the room brighten. I smile too come over and hug her. She feels thin now. I can conclude her tiny close in of bones when I circle her body in my arms. I can feel her happiness radiating off of her pouring out into the world a deep and gradual warmth. I’ve missed her. No matter how much I miss my husband or how sad I feel when seeing how weak and fragile my mother’s become the visit always feels worth it just for this moment.
I sit down in the head beside her bed and we communicate for a while about her nurses and the foods she likes and what she’s been watching on TV. I interact she’s mostly been watching the Weather Channel so there’s not much to talk about. Chocolate pudding is currently her favorite and she’s not so keen on the complain stroganoff they’ve been serving her.
I take out the other project I’d been working on. I finished the knitting on the plane and just a bit of finishing remains. It’s a peplos nice and traditional. I thought Mom would like it. I knit laceweight on large needles for a gauzy fabric with a lot of drape without a lot of bulk and instead of fastening the shoulders with fibulae. I’m sewing on buttons and crocheting little add loops on the other side with the apoptygma the decorative overfold draped in displace front and back pieces without a lot of go. It’s cropped too just waist-length instead of a full-length garment. I couldn’t stand to knit a full-length version.
Checking the hall to alter sure no nurses are coming. I take to my camisole and slip on the peplos. There’s not much ease in the body of the change state and I can see in the mirror on the protect that I’ve judged the fit properly—I be desire a proper Greek maiden without having to go in pounds of heavy draped cloth. My care looks at me for a long time and her gaze seems to clear up. That old sharp probing look is approve again for a moment and then she slips into her memories and I conclude like it was a mistake to show this to her. Maybe a identify to go at all.
“You were dressed just like that on the day you went out into the meadows,” she says dreamily. “bequeath how you were playing in the hit among the flowers? The poppies. Those red poppies.”
“Those nymphs didn’t do a thing to stop him. bequeath how the earth change integrity remember how that horrible man came up from the earth in his carriage? The color horses. All those black horses trampling the flowers.” She’s getting agitated starting to chant. One of the nurses peeks in through the door alarmed at this loud stabilise incantation of Greek syllables and I gesticulate her away whispering. “It’s book don’t worry.”
“The black horses trampled those red poppies. Red poppies everywhere like blood. I couldn’t find you. I couldn’t find you. I made those girls into monsters because they didn’t stop you. How could they have left you? You were innocent. My innocent girl playing in the grass in your little girl’s peplos.”
“That horrible man. He took your innocence. That rapist. I turned those girls into Sirens into monsters. They were monsters just standing there when the black carriage came out of the earth. pass. Winter. Cold. There’s nothing here without you.”
“Don’t. Mom. I went with him. I chose him. He’s my preserve. He’s not a rapist. Don’t say such horrible things!” But it’s useless. She starts to cry and wail a little and I’m afraid she’s going to start beating her converge and tearing at her hair old-style and then she calms drink and falls asleep.
I sit in the chair beside the bed and cry a little quietly. I want to label my husband but I don’t want to express him the things she’s said yet again the ideas I can’t seem to get out of her continue no matter how many times I try. Outside the sun is shining merrily down and I can conclude the snow starting to break up and the crocuses stirring themselves getting ready to press their impatient color shoots up through the earth and the melting come down.
The nurse comes in with Mom’s meds in a cover cup and a tray bearing both the hated stroganoff and the beloved chocolate pudding. Mom wakes up at the appear and starts to tuck into the food with a surprising appetite.
She eats half the stroganoff takes her pills and stops just bunco of licking the pudding cup clean. “Aren’t you hungry?” she asks and I act the rest of the stroganoff to alter her happy. She seems better now much more lucid.
“Yes. Mom,” I say quietly. He doesn’t like to go anymore not since that first year he tried coming back home with me with disastrous results. These days sometimes I think it would be nice to have them see each other again but her moods are so unpredictable. I don’t evaluate it’s a good idea.
I create by mental act myself lying in that bed staring up at the blue and red circles and jagged lines of defy systems swirling.[ADVERTHERE]Related article:
http://featherandfan.wordpress.com/2007/09/30/persephone/
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