Mothers and Daughters: An Anthology
Page 19
Fran chortled. “Yes, and this little minx laughed, too. Don’t let her fool you with that innocent smile.” Frannie patted Lexi’s hand. “Made me buy her more cotton candy, too.”
Amused chuckles circled the room.
“You have to write that down, honey,” Carrie said to Lexi, her voice soft with nostalgia. “It’s exactly the kind of memory your grandmother wants to keep. And look at this.” She tapped a photo of herself in a hideous pair of expensive boots that had been all the fad when she was thirteen. Her mother had worked an extra job to pay for the long-forgotten clodhoppers. “I can’t believe I wanted those so badly.”
“Eek, Mom, you look like a geek.”
Carrie snickered, though her throat was still tight with emotion. “I’m afraid you’re right. But I thought I was so cool then.”
“Does that mean, I’ll look back someday and think I look geeky?”
“Yep.” She hooked an elbow around her daughter’s neck. “Sure does.”
Frannie herself stared moist-eyed at the array of memories from her life—photos, ticket stubs, oversize printed buttons from various festivals, bumper stickers, recipes.
“I thought everything was lost in the fire,” she said in wonder, brightly polished nails trailing over one thing after another. “I was afraid they were gone forever and I wouldn’t be able to remember any of them.”
“Well, girlfriend,” Alice said, bumping Fran with her hip. “When you forget, we’ll remember. Between the lot of us, we should be able to stay afloat. Look at this one of you and Jake. You’re skinny as a stick.”
Fran’s bawdy laugh returned. “I’ve never been skinny a day in my life.”
Carrie leaned in. She’d seen so few photos of the father who had died before she had memories. “He looks like Robby.”
“Was he a hippie or something, Grannie?” Lexi asked.
“Mercy, no. Everyone wore long hair and striped bell-bottoms back then. Handsome rascal, wasn’t he?”
While they dug through and sorted out the box of memorabilia, two of the ladies carried in snacks and drinks and before Carrie realized what was happening, a full-scale party was in swing. There was laughter and tears, jokes and silliness. Most of all, she felt the love being poured out upon her mother by the women Carrie had considered hypocritical and uncaring.
“Carrie, honey,” Kathleen Filbert said, her dyed red hair startling beneath the glare of the dining room chandelier. “Look at this photo. You were the most adorable little girl. One time when you were maybe six or seven your mama took you to an Easter egg hunt, all dressed up in one of those fluffy dresses, and the newspaper took your picture. Put it right on the front page. Do you remember that, Frannie?”
“I think I saw that clipping in here somewhere,” Candace said and started digging. She found the yellow newsprint with a whoop, waving it under Frannie’s nose.
Carrie remembered. Mother had made that fluffy pink dress herself, spending hours after work hand sewing lace and frills so her little girl could look as pretty as the rich kids.
In fact, a flood of beautiful memories, long forgotten, came sweeping in. She and her mother and Robby joyfully dancing around a tiny Christmas tree, wearing paper Santa hats and licking candy canes, so happy they couldn’t stop grinning, and having no idea that their mother had pawned her wedding rings to buy the gifts. Later that day, people from the church had dropped by, loaded with turkey and all the trimmings. And that wasn’t the only time the church had come to the rescue. Then she’d been humiliated, but now she understood. They were doing the ministry of Christ in the only way they knew how.
Tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. The deep throb of bitterness began to ease. She’d been wrong. These ordinary, fallible women, with their funny stories and cupcakes were showing love, the Christ kind of love, God in action.
Realization swept through her. She was the problem, not God, not the church. Her. Carrie Martin.
With a mumbled, “excuse me,” she left the noisy, cheery dining room and went into the bathroom where she let the tears come. Cleansing tears of release and repentance.
“Lord God in Heaven, I’ve been so angry at You when all along my attitude was the problem. Forgive me. Help me to find the extravagant faith and joy my mother has.”
She prayed for a long time, for her mother, her family, her relationship with Dan. Most of all, she prayed to know God for who He really was, not who she imagined Him to be. When the storm of tears and prayer subsided, she sat on the cold, hard edge of the bathtub, feeling drained but strangely and wonderfully refreshed.
A knock sounded on the door. “Mom, are you okay?”
“Better than I’ve been in a long time,” she replied and stepped out into the hall with a shiny nose, reddened eyes and a smile.
Life wasn’t perfect and never would be, no matter how hard she worked, but today had taught her something valuable. Life happened one moment at a time, one memory at a time. Every minute she spent in anger and bitterness was a minute she should be making memories, loving, giving, because once that moment was gone, memories were all she’d have left.
Chapter Thirteen
Fran awoke in the strange, unfamiliar bedroom, more afraid than she’d ever been in her life. Blood pounded against her temples. Where was she? Had she been kidnapped? Whose were those voices she could hear? Afraid to move or make noise, she stared around the room, trying to remember. The fog was thick this morning, as if she’d awakened in…Where was that city with the heavy fog? Frustrated, she let it go. It didn’t matter. She was lost and alone.
Her frantic gaze fell on a book lying on the bedside table. Finally, something that looked familiar. As quietly as possible, she reached out and took the book in hand.
“My book. My Bible.” The fog began to clear, enough that Fran realized she was having an episode. She couldn’t bring the rest to mind but a name appeared and she clung to that single word like the life preserver it was. “Jesus.”
She clutched the worn black book to her chest. “You promised to help me bear anything that came my way. If You could bear the cross, I can bear this.” Tears welled. “What if I forget You, Father? That’s the thing I fear the most. Don’t let me forget You.”
The bedside clock read nine, though Fran wasn’t certain if that meant morning or night. She sat up and with trembling fingers opened the book to a random page in Isaiah and began to read.
Surely they may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands.
Fran blinked and read the verses again, and as she did, the words pierced the remaining fog. She read them again and yet again. Relief and wonder started as a small bubble and grew into a giant balloon of renewed joy.
She might forget Him but God never would her. For all eternity, her name was written in the palms of His hands.
Tears of joy and gratitude and worship filled her eyes as fear was chased away by the unfathomable love of God. Fear of the future was forever gone, replaced by trust and assurance and an inexplicable peace.
“Thank you, Lord. Thank you.”
She listened quietly, feeling the love envelop her like a warmth, hearing the still, small voice that had been her strength and guide since she’d accepted Christ at twelve years old.
After a long, sweet time, she pushed the covers aside, shoved her feet into bunny slippers and went to tell Carrie the great good news. She found her daughter, as always, cleaning something in an ever-spotless house.
“You know what?” she said without fanfare.
Carrie kept right on dusting the piano. The smell of lemon Pledge tickled Fran’s nose. “Would you like some breakfast, Mother?”
“No, honey. I’ve already eaten.”
Carrie arched an eyebrow. Frannie grinned.
“Feasting on the Word of God.” At Carrie’s softened expression, she went on. “I was back there praying and God said, ‘Frannie, haven’t I always taken care of you?’ And I said, ‘Yes, Lord, you always have.’
And He said, ‘Then get up, wash your face and get on with life. You still have work to do.’ And He told me something else, too. I want to share it with you.”
Carrie paused in her dusting, one hand on the cloth, the other on the Pledge can, finger on the trigger. “God never talks to me that way.”
“He would if you’d listen. Here. I want to show you something.” She flopped the well-worn Bible open and poked a chubby finger at a verse. “Right there it is.”
Carrie leaned forward and squinted at the small print. What she read made her insides leap. “Surely they may forget, yet I will not forget you. See, I have inscribed you on the palms of My hands.”
Tears clogged the back of her throat. “Mother, that’s beautiful. I’ve never read that before.”
Frannie hugged her daughter’s waist. “God loves us so much, He jotted a note about us on His hands.” Her voice softened as she seemed to quote. “What manner of love is this, that we should be called the children of God.”
“Is that in the Bible, too?”
“Yep. Somewhere. I forget.” Mother laughed. “One thing about Alzheimer’s is that everything is always new. No matter how many times I read the Bible, something new and fresh pops up just when I need it. That’s the way God is, always there, ready and eager to meet our needs in whatever way is best for us.”
“I never thought of God that way. He always seemed to be about following rules and doing the right things.” She spritzed a dull place on the table and rubbed hard.
“I know, honey. But God isn’t into how much you do, as much as He’s interested in how much you love.”
Carrie gave her mother’s words some thought. Frannie had lived her life this way, loving and serving and never expecting anything in return. Somewhere Carrie had missed out on having that kind of relationship with Jesus.
“I’m nearly forty-two years old and I never knew God wanted to have a relationship with me. I just thought He wanted me to obey and serve Him and hope like crazy that I was good enough to get to Heaven.”
“Oh, honey, a relationship with God is so much more, so much better than that. Now that you know better, you can really get to know Him instead of trying to win His approval by doing stuff. He already approves of you. He thinks you’re fabulous, all because you believe in His Son, Jesus. He wants to fellowship with you, to be the Father you never had. Somewhere I failed in teaching you that, but having Alzheimer’s has given me a second chance.”
Carrie waved the dust cloth like a warning flag. “Mother, please. Don’t credit this awful disease with anything good.”
“I most certainly will. In a way, Alzheimer’s is a gift and I’m going to be thankful for it. Remember Amy Crayton? One day she was on her front porch arguing with Cindy Raymond about a recipe for meat loaf, and the next day she fell over dead in her pink azaleas from a massive coronary.”
“I don’t see the point.”
“Amy never knew the end was coming and that she had spent the last day of her life in a snit with her best friend over something as silly as meat loaf. I have this great gift from God, this ability to see the end. I have time to tell everyone how much I love them, time to share the love of Jesus with you. Time to say my goodbyes and to do a lot of things I’ve always wanted to do.”
“I wish you didn’t have to do this at all.”
“But I do. End of subject. So instead of spitting against the wind and being miserable, let’s try to see the good that can come out of it.”
“You sound like Dan.”
“He’s a fine man. A fine Christian man.”
Carrie smiled. A month ago the assertion would have shocked her but she was seeing faith in a whole new way. Even if Dan didn’t fit her narrow definition of what a Christian should be, he was a man of faith who loved and served God.
“Just think, Carrie Ann, our incredible, extravagantly loving God has granted me the ability to realize that today is all I have. Don’t you see what a gift that is? If we all knew that this day, this hour, this second was our last, wouldn’t we live it to the fullest?”
The phrasing hit a chord with Carrie. Since the Memory Lane party, she’d been doing a lot of thinking about that very thing. One moment at a time was all any of them had. All any of them had ever had. She just hadn’t realized it before.
“You know, Mother,” she said, dropping the dust cloth onto the table. “I hate this disease. I hate seeing this happen to you. But maybe you’re right.”
“Good. I need some coffee.”
“The pot is still fresh.” She followed Fran into the kitchen and leaned on the cabinet.
A cup clattered onto the counter as Fran poured and sugared. “Did I tell you that Ken ordered a Harley?”
“A motorcycle? Ken Markovich? What on earth possessed him to do such a thing?”
“He always wanted one. I told him there is no time like the present. So he ordered one. A big one with all the gadgets and room for two.”
“You aren’t going to ride it, are you?” She knew the answer before Fran opened her mouth.
“Of course, I am. I have no reason to fear anything anymore, Carrie.”
“As if you ever did.”
“Oh, I did. I just didn’t let you know about it.”
“Really?” Now this was a surprise.
But Frannie only replied with a Cheshire smile. “This fall, after harvest, Ken’s taking me to New England to see the foliage and the whales. Won’t that be marvelous? I’ve always wanted to see those magnificent giants of the sea.”
“I’ve heard the leaves are glorious.”
“You and Dan should go, too. Maybe take Lexi and a couple of those little boys along for the ride.”
Dan’s “boys,” as she’d come to think of them, had woven a path into her heart and she’d come to enjoy having them around. She and Dan had even discussed signing up for foster care. She smiled at the thought. Yes, she’d like that very much—she and Dan with their own personal ministry to kids.
Carrie opened a cabinet and reached for a coffee mug. “I’m not buying a motorcycle.”
Fran snickered. “Then go in a plane or a car, but go, honey. Go. Live. Enjoy. It’s all going to be over so fast. I don’t want you to miss a moment of this amazing, incredible, beautiful thing called life.”
Carrie poured the still-hot, fragrant brew, cooling it with cream while she considered this morning’s interesting revelations. “Mother?”
“What, honey?”
“I want you to know that I’ve been wrong about a lot of things. This morning you’ve really opened my eyes. And I want you to forgive all the stupid, selfish things I’ve said and done.”
Her mother paused midsip, looking at her over the rim of the cup. “All I ever wanted was to see my children happy and fulfilled and walking in the amazing grace of God.”
“I know. During the past few months, I’ve learned a lot of lessons. I’ve watched you struggle with this frightening disease and face it head-on, full of courage and faith while I whined and grew bitter. I want you to know that your way is the best way, and from now on I’m going to try to be more like you—loving, faithful, and maybe even a little outrageous.”
The corners of Fran’s lips twitched. “Oh you are, are you?”
“Yeah. I are.” She grinned at the purposeful grammar gaffe.
Fran pulled Carrie’s face down and planted a noisy kiss on her forehead, a twinkle in her eyes. The scent of coffee circled them like one of Frannie’s fragrant scarves. “Then I have a great idea.”
Carrie drew back, smiling. “Do I want to hear this?”
Her mother’s rich laugh filled the room. “Brace yourself, darling, because I’m going skydiving. And I want you to go with me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Fran looked down, pulse thrumming in her temples, excited beyond expectation, but she wasn’t afraid. Oh, no, she would never be afraid again. The sound of the airplane engine roared loudly in her ears, drowning out the sound of her thudding heart.
The fog moved in behind her eyelids but she fought it. Not today. She wanted to remember this moment when she’d finally brought her daughter to a place of free-falling on Jesus, totally trusting in God, for that’s the way she viewed this new willingness in Carrie to do something outrageous and a little dangerous.
Her eyes found the green cap again. Roland. No, no, not Roland. Ken, holding a sign as he held her heart. A sign that read, Unforgettable.
She focused in on that one word. Unforgettable. God would never, ever forget. She was written on the palms of His hands.
Carrie stood in the open doorway of the airplane, heart thundering in her ears. A million butterflies flapped and danced in her stomach. Excited, more than a little tense, but exhilarated beyond her wildest imaginings and wonderfully free.
The jump instructor stood next to her, checking and rechecking, repeating instructions they’d been practicing for days. She knew what to do. And as scary and crazy as it seemed, she wanted to. She only hoped, for Mother’s sake, she could go through with the jump.
Down below, a crowd of well-wishers waved, and though she couldn’t hear them, she knew they cheered. Friends, church members, Dan’s boys and the Red Hat Society in full regalia had come out to celebrate this glorious, golden day with Fran and Carrie. Lexi was down there somewhere with Dan and her video camera, capturing every moment so they could all remember forever the day Carrie Martin shed her constricting cocoon and became as freewheeling as her mother.
She turned her head, heavy in the protective helmet and met her mother’s excited eyes. It occurred to her that jumping from an airplane was a lot like the journey into Alzheimer’s. Once begun, there was no turning back and no safety net. And no matter how much they learned and studied, there would always be that element of fear and danger and the unpredictable.