excavation

I came home last night dreading the silence that was certain to greet me as I walked through the door. Usually I crave the peacefulness of home, safely tucked away on my couch, sheltered from the staggering noise of the city. But for the past few days, my mother has been home with me. Filling my apartment with noise and laughter, infusing the air with smells from her cooking. Her constant shuffling was at time irritating for someone as up-tight as me, but it was still more than welcome. Her chronic worries about my health, her random nuggets of advice and simply her presence impregnated my living space with life.

So it was with a heavy heart that I reached my key to the door. I dreaded the quietness that was sure to envelope me with sadness.

As I turned the doorknob there was sound. It was music. Mildly surprised, I went to my stereo and found an index card taped to the speaker. "Linda, I couldn't lock the door and was afraid someone might come in, so I hid your camera behind the trash can and hid your money in the cup on the shelf and left the music on so people would be tricked into thinking that someone was home."

They say that you don't know what you have till it's gone. For me, I didn't know what I was sacrificing till I got it back. I haven't really dealt with much homesickness since coming here last year. Caught up in the impetuous life of the city, there have been more than enough things to keep one occupied and busy beyond belief. But for the past few weeks, I had my mother back. Just having her there to worry about me, to talk to me, scold me, encourage me has been an amazing rediscovery of love. When I said my goodbyes to her in the morning, my heart literally ached with how much I loved her, and I felt so sorry that she was sad upon leaving her daughter. I wished I could protect her from that sadness.

I'm a lucky girl to have the mom that I have. I'm sure most of us are lucky to have the moms that we have. There's nothing like them broads.