Maggie & Me (157 hits)
Category: Quotes & Storiesno reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by Soley (View user info) at 2007-05-03 08:13:54 EDT
Audio: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ONzuRSCZbls
My sister and I hounded Mama many a year during our childhood for a dog to play with. Her answer was always the same, "NO - You've got each other." I understand now that back then there was barely enough food on the table to satisfy our growing bellies let alone that of a ravenous mongrel's. Hell, mama rarely ate anything herself; only ever setting two places at the table for Maggie and me. It amazes me what a mother will go with out to provide for her babies. My mother was no exception.
It was almost four months after my sister's accident that I went back home to visit. Although I spoke to mama and Maggie regularly on the phone, it had been 4 years since I'd seen them both. Everything about our house on the side of a hill was still the same, only older. I didn't realise the extent of Maggie's condition till we were face to face. The lack of oxygen to her brain, while her lungs were filling with water had caused severe brain damage. She was childlike. Her eyes recognised me, but her brain couldn't register my name. She offered me her open arms and laughed. "Small Brother."
I took mama and Maggie out to the car to meet Lucky and Dusty. They were pups when I took them home from the rescue shelter. My barn house had always seemed too big and unlived in before it became home to my two loyal companions. Maggie opened the car door and Dusty came bolting out, almost knocking her to the ground. Lucky climbed out slowly, still being cautious of strangers. Maggie stood there clapping her hands, only her palms meeting, rocking back and forth slowly, shouting "Wolf. Wolf." Before Mama could grab Maggie's hand, she was off chasing the dogs. It was then I noticed her lack of co-ordination. It was like watching Maggie age 9, even though now she was a grown woman stumbling over her own feet.
Mama brought out the old, off white bed sheet that we used as children to paint on. Only the lord knows how many times that thing has been boiled. The water based paints she held in a shoebox under her arm were a far cry from the oil paints Maggie once used to create her masterpieces', her livelihood. I squirted a little of each colour onto the sheet trying to encourage my sister to come and paint once more. Before I could call her she was at my side, grinding her teeth. She whipped the sheet from the ground, pulling it over her head. Her feet took off once more, the old sheet flapping mid air behind her. Seeing her then as she was was like laying my eyes upon an angel. I felt suffocated by beauty. I had to tell myself to breathe.
As the day was draws to a close, we all head inside. Mama fixes us a hot meal, corned beef, cabbage and rice. I take the liberty of setting three places at the table. It's a treat to have our mother sit down and eat with us. Afterwards mama starts cleaning the dishes. She wouldn't let me help no matter how many times I offered. In her old age she still wants to look after us.
I help Mama settle Maggie down for the night. "Good night sweet angel" I tell her from the doorway, and she blows me a kiss which I catch with both hands.
I'll never forget what's it's like to be a child... as long as I have my big sister.
I make mama a cup of tea, no sugar and a splash of milk, and we sit quietly in the drawing room.
Here I find myself studying her face as I often did as a child. Every line wears heavy now, and each has a story to be told that I want to hear, but not right now. She needs her rest. I wanted to cradle the tired, old woman in front of me. However, I didn't. I sat comfortably in the green, old worn armchair that my dad once rested his bones in, and watched her drift off to sleep. She smiles and cries in her sleep. And I wonder what she dreams about...
Once in a while the road her aching feet travel stop dead in their tracks, and she finds herself on her hands and knees. She resists the urge to give up and she crawls until her feet can take the strain again. Anxiety rattles me to my core and my heart breaks knowing that one day she'll be able to crawl no more.
It has only just dawned on me that during my first 10 years of life I saw the world through my mother's eyes. Her interpretation of it was beautiful. I am truly thankful for that. Mama wanted to make a difference to the world, no matter how small. I know she thinks that's something she hasn't achieved, but if my world is anything to go by, she excelled all others who tried in vain by making a difference.
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