It’s Been Quite a While

By Julie Haefner

As I approach the restaurant, I slightly hesitate. It’s been a little over four years since I have seen her. Will she look the same? Will I look the same to her? Will she even recognize me? While the questions blow through my mind, I start to slowly walk to the front door. I pull it open and creep inside, looking around to see if she has already arrived. I don’t see her in the waiting area but hear my name called in that sweet voice of hers. I turn to look. She is sitting at a booth, already starting to get up to greet me. The tears start to fill my eyes as I get closer. As I reach her, she stretches out her arms and embraces me in a hug, holding me tight and close. As I pull out of the embrace, I look at her misty brown eyes, smell her signature perfume, and feel the love emanating from her. I’m so happy to see her, it’s been quite a while.

We sit down on opposite sides of the booth facing one another as we always have. Talking is easier when you are looking a person in the eyes. That is something she taught me long ago. You should always make eye contact when you talk to anyone because it shows respect. The waitress comes and asks for our drink order. We order our usuals, root beer for me and iced tea with no lemon for her. We start perusing the menu in silence. It doesn’t take long for one of us to ask the other what she is getting to eat. We always compare just in case the other one finds something more interesting. It always seems like a game to me; one we haven’t played in quite a while.

The waitress comes back with our drinks and takes our order. I’ve decided on a ham sandwich minus lettuce and tomatoes. Lettuce doesn’t belong in a sandwich and I’m allergic to tomatoes. She chooses to be a copycat but leaves everything in it. We sip our drinks while we talk, waiting for the food to arrive. We laugh and share stories, getting caught up on each other’s lives as much as possible. I mostly just sit and listen to her talk. I’ve missed her gentle voice and her Pennsylvanian accent and word choices such as “red things up.” I watch the way her eyes sparkle mischievously when she is tattling on my dad. Her eyes still crinkle up, almost completely closing when she laughs. Mine do the same thing. I guess I got that from her. 

The food arrives and we take a break from chatting to enjoy our meal. I can’t help but glance at her every few seconds to make sure she’s still there. My heart begins to ache as if I am already missing her even though she’s still seated before me. She catches me staring and raises her eyebrows at me.

“Do I have something in my teeth?” She inquires with a smirk on her face.

“No. You just look happy. I’m so glad we’re doing this,” is the only reply I can summons. If I try to say anything else, I’ll break down crying. My heart is so full of love.

The waitress comes and asks if there’s anything else we need. Our eyes meet and we laugh because we’ve already eaten too much. The waitress innocently leaves the check on the table. My mom says that it’s her treat, and my mind starts to panic, knowing the truth she does not seem aware of. Although she is here with me and cognizant of everything around her, her life has changed. She can’t pay for the meal because she has no money, no credit or debit cards. She no longer has any material possessions. If I tell her the truth, will she freak out and make a scene? Will she be mad at me? I take a deep breath and close my eyes. I must tell her the truth. I owe her that.

I slowly open my eyes to tell her, but the scene suddenly changes. I am no longer in the restaurant. I now find myself in my mother’s bedroom, the only light peeking through the dusty blinds covering the sliding glass doors, barely illuminating the room. She’s lying on her bed with her eyes closed. She’s positioned like a corpse in a coffin, with her hands folded neatly on her abdomen. The motion of her chest moving slightly up and down is the only proof that she’s still alive. She’s unconscious and has been for days. I sit across the room watching her, my fiancé by my side. We watch her in silence, holding hands.

After a while, I feel as if the room has changed. I look closely at my mother, trying to see if she is breathing. I start to panic because I detect no movement. Her chest is no longer going up and down. I turn and look at my fiancé. Our eyes meet. He says I need to check on her. I tell him no because I don’t want to confirm my suspicions. He squeezes my hand and then releases me, sending me to my mother’s bedside. I fearfully approach and carefully sit beside her, trying not to disturb her.

“Mama, can you hear me?” Nothing. “Please answer me. Please don’t be gone,” I plead.

I carefully watch her chest. No movement. I put my hand under her nose and feel nothing. I touch her wrist. It’s still warm. It gives me hope. I search for a pulse, but there’s nothing. I lean down and put my ear to her chest and am greeted with dead silence.

“No, mama, no,” I whisper, letting the tears fall from my eyes but resisting the urge to fully break down.

I look up at the digital clock by her bed and mark the time of death, 3:54 pm. I kiss her forehead, squeeze her lifeless hand, and tell her I’m sorry and will miss her.

I stand up, not knowing what to do. I’m so lost. I look to my fiancé for guidance, and he tells me to call in the rest of the family. But I don’t want to do that just yet. I don’t want them to intrude upon the silence, upon my grief. I want more time alone with her. But I realize I can’t be that selfish, especially to my dad. He deserves to know and yet I don’t want to be the one to cause him that anguish. I walk to the open bedroom door and tell my sisters they need to come in, something has happened to mom. I’ll let them be the bearers of this sad news.

As I turn around to face my fiancé . . . I wake up, jolting straight up in bed, tears running down my face, realizing it was only a dream. I’m overcome with grief once more. My heart aches. There’s a hole in it that only she can fill. My dreams are the only place I get to see her now. She’s been gone for four years.

“Oh, mama. I miss you so much,” I whisper into the darkness, sobbing.

Author Bio

---