“How was your day, Mama? Do anything fun?” I asked, sitting back against the comfy sofa.
“Just rested today,” she answered. “The play we went to yesterday was so good. It was the first time it was being performed …” She went on telling me about the play written and directed by a young, up-and-coming female African-American playwright. My mother’s facility housed about fifty seniors, all in various levels of health. Some were extremely spry and healthy while others had a number of health conditions. My mother was somewhere in the middle in terms of her health. The Parkinson’s she’d been diagnosed with nearly seven years prior had grown worse over the years but she was determined not to let that stop her from enjoying what parts of life she could. While it was a challenge to get around, the facility frequently hosted outings and events for their residents, and my mother was often first in line to attend. She was still in good spirits for a woman in her early seventies with a debilitating illness.
“What else did you do yesterday?”
“We went to the Museum of Natural History. I love that place. Oh, I’m trying to get the managers to take us to the Fashion Museum. I’d love to show Ida some of my favorite fashion trends over the years. She loves Resha’s blog posts.”
I giggled. My mother was so proud of Resha’s blog. She showed everyone that stopped by her apartment. She had a desktop computer that I’d bought and had set up for her on the desk by the entryway to her apartment. It’d taken some time to teach my mom how to navigate the internet and how to locate Resha’s blog, but over the last few years she’d warmed up to it as it helped her keep up with her niece turned daughter when Resha was out of town.
“Resh and I FaceTimed the other week.”
I nodded. “She told me.”
“Said she picked up a couple of pieces for me while over there but she won’t tell me what she got.” My mother pouted.
“You know she likes surprising you.”
My mother smiled. “I do. Between you and Resha my whole apartment is bursting with gifts, food, computers, and more.”
“We’re not that bad,” I teased. “You done with that?” I asked, nodding at her empty plate.
“Well, I could go for—”
“No,” I admonished. “You will not be having two slices of cake tonight, Ma. You can have the other tomorrow when Ida comes over for lunch.”
“Hmph!” My mother pouted again.
I shook my head and smiled although a pang of sadness coursed through me at the role reversal that’d taken place over the past six years. While my mother was still very upbeat and had most of her mental capacity, I’d had to step in and handle her finances, set her up to live in the facility she now lived in, and do her grocery shopping, or at least arrange for the groceries to be delivered to her. One reason it wasn’t totally overwhelming for me was because my father had been determined to take care of both of his girls before he died. He’d worked for the government for years and that provided a lifelong pension of fifty percent of his salary to his widow, as well as retirement savings and life insurance he’d left both of us. While there were still some costs I had to take on to have my mom live on her own, they were minimal compared to what I would’ve had to pay had my father not cared for her the way he had. With or without my financial contribution, my mother would’ve been fine.
My father was the first person who taught me about handling finances in a responsible way. Although his belief was that I needed to find a good man who would take care of me the way he’d always taken care of my mother and I.
Yeah, right.
“What was that face for?”
I shook my head, freeing myself of my straying thoughts to glance over at my mother. “Nothing,” I lied.
She frowned, obviously not believing me. She was still keen when she wanted to be. “You were thinking about Darryl.”
I sighed, closing my eyes. My mother was the only one who ever had the courage to mention his name in my presence.
“I wasn’t thinking about him, not really.”
“What do you meannot really?”
“I was just thinking how Daddy always wanted me to find a man to take care of me the way he took care of you … and how I failed at that. My ex,” I paused, “wasn’t Daddy.”
“No, he wasn’t.” She shook her head.
“As much as I loved Daddy, he was wrong. I didn’t need a man to take care of me. I’ve proven that.”
“Yes, baby, you have. You’ve proven yourself to be strong and rather independent, able to support yourself. But are you happy?”
I refrained from rolling my eyes toward the sky. As a child that would’ve garnered me a smack across the face and I wasn’t too sure my mother wouldn’t try to let me have it again for such rudeness, but I hated that question. As if the only way a woman could be happy was to have a man in her life.
“I’m happy, Mama. Life is great. I have a thriving business and career, Resha and my friends. Brenda.”
“But you don’t have a man.”
