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Drabble Corner

Michelle Swisz

It's a pleasure to present this month's Drabble by Ralph Wahlstrom on Loving Well.

Loving Well

He glanced up at her, caught his breath, and let it out in uneven hisses. “It’s your turn.”

She looked away, paused a moment and coughed.

“Come on,” he insisted, “I did it last time.”

She sighed, still looking away, her eyes studying green crayon marks on the counter. “It’s hard,” she whispered.

“I know it is, but we agreed, and I did it last time.”

She raised her head. Her eyes looking past him to the living room. “It’s just hard.”

“I know.”

She sighed slowly, a long deep breath, turned her eyes to his, and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

On September 30, a couple of weeks ago as I write this, my mother died unexpectedly. It had been a difficult relationship for us, yet I remember now her intimate caring during one of my early adult episodes of angst—"Mom, we've decided to move in together." That was a lunch-hour long conversation years ago, when I was 23, in which she reassured me that I surely wouldn't be disowned by anyone. Sometime since then, the best I can tell about five years later, something happened that she wouldn't talk about or acknowledge that progressively took her away emotionally from all three of her kids. When she died, there had been very little contact, only brief phone conversations and, sometimes, birthday cards, from her to any of her children for over 15 years. I'm the oldest, and the only one who remembers her involvement in any of our lives. My grieving involves old memories more than newer ones, and wishes for what might have been, if only whatever was wrong, wasn't.

I had a different kind of grief years ago over the death of my maternal grandmother, who was very much a mother to me. My mother, the one who bore me, had by the time of her own death pulled or been pulled so far away that the feeling of connection seemed to be wishes and memories, colored and clouded by unfortunate events seen through young eyes, and by years of misunderstanding, ongoing life, and the intervening deaths of extended family. Yet I do grieve for her. My difficulty in understanding this particular grief is similar to my difficulty in understanding the connection itself. Maybe it will be clearer what this grief is, if I come to understand the connection with my mother better.

Our Drabble for November is a 100-word story illustrating human connection. What is it? Here are the Guidelines, and here is the link to where to send your submission, drabble@wvu.org. which is due by November 10.

See you next time.