The Day My Mother Cried

The night we heard the news, it was raining. Not outside. Outside it was dark and quiet, everyone asleep in their homes or watching TV or maybe doing some late-night reading. It was raining down my mother’s face: pouring from glassy eyes squeezed shut and rimmed red, streaking down slightly wrinkled cheeks clutched desperately in her shaking hands.

I wasn’t supposed to see, so I stayed hidden. My parents didn’t cry in front of me, not if they could help it. I always wanted to tell them that I didn’t mind, that it was worse not to see them cry, but I was old enough by then to understand the embarrassment when you crack in front of someone you’re supposed to be strong for. I didn’t know at first what caused the rain, only that it squeezed my heart and caught my breath, keeping me in the shadow of my doorway, frozen.

They told me later that my mom’s dad had died. My grandpa, the man with snow white hair who had scratchy cheeks and liked apple pie. The man who golfed and spoke rarely, who liked corn and couldn’t have salt. Gone. I saw the way grief carved out my mom, making her curl in on herself and smile sadly, talking quietly on the phone with her mother and sister. Yet even when I squeezed my eyes shut and looked for the same pain in my heart, I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel hollow. It hasn’t sunk in yet, I thought to myself. But I had never been that good at lying.

>>>

The funeral was scheduled soon. No, not funeral- celebration of life. Right. It was back in Iowa, my mom’s hometown, where it seemed like we’d just visited yesterday. How could things have changed so fast? The plane ride was familiar, the drive down the long rural lanes still fresh in my memory. When we got to the house it could have just been any other day, my sister and I complaining from the plane ride, my mom telling stories of her childhood, my dad worried about being late.

The moment my grandma saw us I saw that same smile that had shakily spread on my mom’s face, the one that quivered with a brave facade and reached for hope amidst the hopeless. I saw that smile and knew nothing would be the same. My mom rushed towards her immediately and hugged her tightly.

“Oh, sweetie,” my grandma murmured into my mom’s shoulder, her eyes closed. When they parted we all took our turns, hugging each other as if reminding ourselves of what life felt like.

Later that night, when my sister Lily and I were in our own room, curled up under the covers of what used to be our mom’s and her sister’s beds, I spoke the guilt that had been gnawing at me.

“I haven’t cried,” I muttered into the fuzzy darkness. There was a little nightlight between our twin mattresses, illuminating our faces just barely. Yet I stared at the ceiling, too scared to see my sister’s expression.

“Neither have I,” she whispered back. “I just keep thinking… I should feel it more, shouldn’t I?”

I let out a breath, something in my chest releasing. “We didn’t see him all that much, did we?”

“Yeah. Remember what mom said?” I turned to her then, smiling softly at the way she was curled up, the blankets pulled all the way up to her chin, wrapping her up like a burrito.

“That he wasn’t always so serious,” I finished for her. “Although I can’t imagine him as a goofy guy.”

She laughed quietly. “Unless he was eating corn. He could get goofy then.”

We shared a mirrored grin and I rolled back over. “Ready for the funeral?”

“Celebration, Zoe,” Lily chided.

“Right, right. He’s being cremated anyway, huh?”

“I like it better like that. He can return to the world that way.”

I stared up at the beige ceiling, watching the shadows of the lamplight dance. “Death hasn’t really felt real, until now. Mom’s never cried like that.”

“I didn’t know what to do,” Lily admitted.

“I don’t think anyone ever does,” I said quietly.

We were silent for a moment, long enough that I reached over and dimmed the light. Not fully, because I knew Lily was afraid of the dark, even if she wouldn’t admit it. In the quiet the weight of the trip pressed in on me. I pulled my own blankets up to my chin, breathing in the over perfumed scent of the unfamiliar fabric.

“Hey Zo?” Lily said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

I smiled. “Yeah, love you too Lil.”

>>>

The day of the celebration the house was a lot more crowded. My aunt, my grandma, my grandma’s friends, and distant cousins I didn’t even know about. I stayed out of their way partly to avoid being questioned and partly to escape the pressure that seemed to settle in any room too many people were gathered in. Lily and I explored the house’s basement instead, which was complete with a wall full of books and a pool table. We wasted no time in taunting each other into multiple games and then flipping through the old tomes until we found one that would transport us.

Everyone wore their best for the celebration. We all took turns in the showers, the bathrooms getting crowded with the smell of hairspray and the heat of curling irons. Lily and I were doing our makeup in one of the only empty bathrooms when mom entered, looking beautiful in a long black dress and face-framing blond ringlets.

“Hello girls,” she said warmly, her smile today small yet genuine.

“Hey,” I answered at the same time Lily said, “Zoe messed up my hair!”

Mom raised an eyebrow and I rolled my eyes. “It’s not my fault the curls don’t stay,” I muttered.

Lily opened her mouth to argue when Mom waved us both apart, chuckling. “I’ll help you out, Lily. You can watch if you’d like, Zoe.”

We both stood stock still as she worked the curler effortlessly, releasing bouncy springs of hair each time. Lily had her eyes closed, probably afraid of the same result as last time, but when she opened them her face broke into a wide grin.

“They’re perfect!” she exclaimed.

I crossed my arms with a grumble. “I’d like to see you try it.”

“Ready to go in a few minutes?” Mom asked.

We both looked at each other, hesitating. I put down my mascara, looking at the three of us in the mirror. “I don’t even know half the people downstairs,” I said sheepishly.

Mom gave us a small smirk as she leaned in to whisper, “I hardly do either. Some of those faces I only saw as a toddler. At least that’s what they tell me.”

“Really?” Lily said with a laugh.

“Really,” Mom replied. “Promise me something?”

“Sure,” we both said at the same time, looking a little nervous.

“Just don’t run off too far at the celebration, alright?”

We grinned and Mom winked. After Mom left the bathroom, I turned to Lily and stared at her hard. She quirked a brow, giving me a questioning look.

“I have an idea,” I whispered, “I mean, since she already gave us permission to leave.”

“Good or bad?”

“Good, definitely.”

“Are we staying?”

“Not for long.”

“Something for mom?”

“Yeah.”

She wrapped up the curling iron with a smile. “Let’s do it.”

>>>

The celebration of life was at a golf club, because of course it was. There was a golf course right behind the house, and it had been my grandpa’s own backyard. Impossibly, there happened to be more people crowded into the small building, decorated with white plastic tables and chairs and a long buffet. No one was eating. There was a big screen in one corner, where pictures of his early life were playing. Among it all was idle chatter, many hello’s and how are you’s and a bit of sniffling. Zoe and I did our rounds of greetings, and then we shared a look and slipped away to the back porch.

“What if they notice-“ Zoe started.

“They won’t,” I promised, grabbing her hand and breaking into a run before I second guessed myself any further. We got to the house quickly, and I opened the fridge with my hands on my hips, staring at the contents with determination.

“Recipe?” I asked.

Zoe began rattling off the ingredients and we got to work. It was the fastest I’d probably ever prepared something, closing the oven with a decisive click. We cleaned. We set the timer. Then we ran back.

The speakers had just stepped down, and the steady rotation of pictures switched to a video. There he was, my grandpa, smiling and looking out at all of us full of life. I watched his hair go from black to brown to white, his skin grow wrinkled, his eyes settle into a permanent squint. People were crying when the video faded to black. Some more words were said, people got up and moved around again, hugging and talking softly to each other. I found mom amidst the crowd and squeezed her hand. My watch beeped. Lily ran off.

“Mom,” I said quietly. “I have something for you. Will you come with me?”

She looked around. The events of the day were over, and now it was just people wandering around, crying and saying sorry for your loss. She wiped her eyes and squeezed my hand back, giving me a small nod. After a few words with my grandma and my dad, I took all three of them across the field and to the house.

“Zoe, what’s-“ My dad started, but that’s when we entered, and the smell hit us. That sweet, sweet smell of cinnamon and pastry and apples. My grandma put a hand to her mouth. My dad wrapped his arms around my mom’s shoulders. I guided them into the kitchen where Lily was waiting, who smiled at us hesitantly.

“It was the recipe you always keep in the top drawer,” she murmured. “The one he wrote down after he said you made it wrong so many times.”

“When…” Grandma started, but mom knew. So much happiness filled her eyes then that she almost looked like her old self.

“We didn’t know him like you did,” I said as Zoe cut them all a slice, “but we did know this. And if we couldn’t fit in with the family at the club, we thought we could at least give you a piece of him he shared with us.”

Just then there was a crack of thunder and we all looked to the window. The sky blazed a bright white, and then the gray clouds let loose a torrent of rain. Sheets and sheets of it fell from the sky, thick and heavy and unashamed. Grandma put down her fork and walked towards the screen door, putting her hand against the glass. She looked up at the sky and murmured something I didn’t catch. Then, louder, “there was something else he always did. He stopped when got older, after we had kids, but sometimes… when we were alone…”

She turned the handle of the door and stepped out onto the porch, getting instantly soaked. Yet she had her face turned up, smiling softly. “He would come outside and open his arms, looking up at the sky as it enveloped him.” She turned to us and reached out a hand. “Let me share this with you.”

We looked at each other for a moment and then one by one joined her outside, tilting our heads up as the rain pounded against our skin and clung to our clothes.

“He’s with us,” grandma murmured. “Can you feel it?”

I looked at Lily, at the way her eyes had fluttered closed. Dad had one hand clasped with mom’s, holding up the shared limb to the sky. Mom’s eyes were red, but this time there was no anguish in them. If she was crying, it rolled away with the rain.

I can, I thought then. I can feel him watching over us. The full storm hit me then- the guilt and the grief and the acceptance washing over me, leaving behind only a bittersweet memory of what once was. This was my grandpa, who liked pie and had snow white hair and would stand out in the rain. This was the man with the scratchy face and the sparse words, the man who raised my mother and saw her raise me. Maybe I wouldn’t fully know him. But he meant something, and I wouldn’t forget that.

I looked up to the sky and let the rain envelop me.