Page 8 of Sensing Selma
TWO
Susan
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IAWOKE TO THE SOUNDSof my mother crying and groaning downstairs in her room. With the small elevator breaking down more and more, we’d moved her down to the main floor to make it easier to move her about, but it left her far from us during the night.
“Mother?”I called out into my empty room, sleep still clinging to my brain.
But as she cried out again, I jumped out of bed and ran down to her room.It was a frequent event these days, even more so than when my father died. She would wake up crying, often following a dream, and I’d console and reassure her. But the cries were different this time.
“Mother?”I said as I rushed to her bed. “What’s wrong? What’s going on? Did you have a bad dream? Are you in pain? Where does it hurt?” I patted her arms, down her legs trying to find the source of her discomfort.
“Oh, Susan,” she cried, caressing my cheek. “My lovely, responsible and resilient Susan. Tell me, how did it all come to this? How have I arrived at this time in my life where I’m about to lose everything? Everything!”
I helped her to sit up. “You still have me, Mother...and Holly. We’ll always be there for you.”
“I know, dear, and I appreciate it, but...”
“Let’s get you out of your nightgown and get you dressed for the day.”
She slapped my hands away. “I can do that,” she said as she pulled her nightgown up and over her head, then pulled on the sweater that was neatly folded on the night table by her bed. “Now that it’s November...” She reached out to hold onto me. “I’m going to wear the green skirt today. It’s thick and warm enough.”
I reached out to the skirt that was draped over the back of the nearby chair. “Here you go.” I helped her into the skirt, then brought her wheelchair up to the side of the bed.
“One...,” she said, bracing herself on my shoulder.
“Two...,” I added as I slipped my hands under her arms.
“And...three!” As she hopped off the bed, one weak foot barely touching the floor, I held her and transferred her to the chair.
“I’d like to have waffles for breakfast,” she said as I wheeled her out
“Waffles sound wonderful.”
“Where’s Holly?”
“Probably still in bed, Mother.”
“I’d really like to have breakfast with both of you this morning,” she said.
Her growing sense of insecurity troubled me. She’d never asked to have breakfast with either of us, not even since father’s death. I couldn’t imagine why she wanted to eat with us this time.
Nonetheless, I wheeled her to the breakfast room and prepared the morning coffee. For her convenience, we’d brought the coffee machine to the table so that she could refill her cup as much as she wanted. In addition, I brought cream, sugar and her favorite mug to the table.
“I’ll go wake Holly and then come back to prepare the waffles.”
I returned upstairs and knocked on Holly’s door.
“Go away,” she grumbled.
I opened the door and stepped inside.
“That’s not what I meant by ‘go away’, Susan. I want to sleep.”
“Well, mother would like to have breakfast with us.”
