A lonely mother, a loving son.. I loaded my laptop my back pack and a small suitcase into the backseat of my crew cab Tundra and walked back into the house. My wife Jenny was busy packing a lunch for me into a Tupperware container and had pulled a couple of energy drinks for the road. I was getting ready for a two week road trip to help my mother settle my grandmother’s estate in Sacramento, California.
My grandmother had died almost a year ago, and the estate was finally being settled. Her house had been sold but there were family items that were saved for my mother, which were currently in storage. There were items of sentimental values and some family heirloom kind of things which was one of the reasons I was going. I have a truck and I am the only child of my parents. I also work as an insurance adjuster so I can do most of my work online and by cell phone, meaning I could take a two week trip and still stay gainfully employed.
I’m 27 years old and Jenny and I have been married for a little over three years. Jenny works at the bank and we have not started a family yet so, it’s just the two of us. So far, it’s a good life. We bought a small starter home, in a middle class neighborhood soon after we got married and, until children come along; we will be very comfortable living there. But, since Jenny and I live in Indianapolis and my mother and father live just outside St Louis, I could see several days of driving ahead.
I gave one last look around to see if I had forgotten anything and then hugged Jenny and gave her a kiss goodbye.
“Wish I didn’t have to go,” I said honestly.
“It’s family. You really have no choice, and don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Call me every day though,” she smiled.
One last kiss and I headed out the door, climbed into my truck and backed out of the drive. I aimed the Tundra towards the interstate and settled in for the long drive. Four maybe five hours to my parent’s home, most of it expressway, which is an efficient but a boring way to travel. This was the first time I had been separated from Jenny since we had gotten married, and if fact was a nice change. My truck has satellite radio so I was able to stay connected to the world, at least as far as the news was concerned.
The miles actually passed more quickly than I had thought and before I thought it possible I saw the Gateway Arch rising from the horizon. I had spent the last few hours lost in thought about my father and mother, an unlikely couple at best. They were married when mom was 17 and I was born a year later. My father is 20 years older than her. No one ever said, but my mother’s father died when she was just 15 and it made a terrible impact on her.
My mother is barely five feet tall and does not weigh more than a hundred pounds soaking wet. She always wore her light brown hair short and although she usually had a smile, she was not loud or boisterous, but more refined and genteel. My father, I always thought of as colorless and boring. An accountant for years, he had no interest in sports and never came to see me participate as a bench player in high school basket or in the track meets, where I was just average. He was maybe six foot tall and not thin but not fat, average would describe his appearance. We were never really close.
I turned north to the neighborhood where my parents lived and soon was driving down a street I knew very well. Three bedroom brick homes that are the signature home of many middle class families are the standard of the neighborhood. As I pulled into the driveway, I noted that not much had changed since I was last here a year ago. Lack of change is good sometimes.
I climbed out of the truck and stretched my cramped muscles as I walked to the door. It was unlocked as always, and I let myself in and walked towards the kitchen where I could hear someone humming a song. It was my mother, busily working at the counter, apparently fixing dinner.
“Hello mother.”
She turned, and with a smile that lit up the room came towards me, hers arms outstretched. We hugged and laughed and smiled at each other the way family does when they have been separated for some time.
“Roger,” she called, “our son is here.”
I heard my father’s voice from one of the bedrooms, “ok, I’ll be right there.”
I put my arm around my mother’s shoulders and she slid her arm around my waist and we walked into the living room. She laid her head against me as we walked. She was clearly glad to see me. My father emerged from the hall way and I was somewhat shocked at his appearance. At sixty seven he was beginning to show his age. His hair was mostly grey and he walked with a slight shuffle. He had never been athletic, but now he just looked old.
“Good to see you,” he said, “and thanks for doing this.”
“No problem, it gives me a chance for a break from my normal routine,” I answered. “Any excuse for a road trip is welcome.”
My mother turned to return to the kitchen and over her shoulder said,”you two catch up while I finish dinner.” With that she left us alone.
There was not much to say. My father and I have virtually nothing in common, but he is still my father. We talked a little, mostly about nothing until dinner was ready when we went into the dining room where mother was finishing setting the table. Nothing fancy, there were baked potatoes, salad and a filet for each of us. A bottle of red wine sat on the table. It was pleasant and unhurried, and we ate and chatted about small things, the news, the weather, but nothing significant. After dinner, my mother and I cleared the table and loaded the dishwasher while my father sat in the living room and watched the news channel on cable. Around nine, my father excused himself and headed for bed. “Got work to do tomorrow,” he explained. I noticed he went into the room that had always been his office but doubled as a guest room, rather than the master bedroom. I looked at my mother and raised my eyebrows in an unspoken question.
“He had prostate cancer over two years ago, and surgery was necessary. When he came home he was a restless sleeper so he moved into his office room so he wouldn’t bother me, and has slept there ever since.” She looked away. “It has not been easy.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.” I didn’t know what else to say so I added, “it’s 850 miles to Denver where I thought we might stay tomorrow, so we need an early start. Let’s get to bed, ok?”
She nodded her head yes and we both got up. She went to the master bedroom and I went to my old room, which had changed very little since I was in college here. We had built what was essentially a small apartment in the basement, complete with a bathroom and a small kitchen. It even had an outside entrance which I had used as a student to keep from disturbing my parents when I came in very late. Someone, my mother I assumed, had put fresh sheets on the bed and it felt very much like I had never left.
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