Seasons Change

Genalea Barker

The slam of the storm door startled me. “Mom?” No response. I set down the laundry basket, heading for the back of the house. “Mom?” Nothing, except an ominous smell wafting through the screen. “No!” A steady stream of profanities left my lips as I raced for the garden hose, my heart racing. Mom stood calmly at the fence, matchbox in hand, completely oblivious to all but the pile of burning leaves in front of her. Not without struggle, I heaved the running hose across the lawn and began waving the water in an erratic pattern over the lames. Heavy smoke rose as the leaves hissed. “I’m going outside to walk along the fence,” she’d told me thirty minutes before. “I need a little exercise.” “Wonderful idea, Mom.” The large back yard was lined entirely with privacy fence, the gate far too inicky and heavy for her to open alone. She couldn’t escape, she couldn’t engage any neighbors in conversation, it was a perfect solo occupation for her, and one she did rather frequently.

I’m going to walk the back fence; it’ll be good for me, had apparently turned into, I’m going to rake up a pile of dry leaves and set them on ire. Thank God I’d heard the door slam. Mother began shouting at me while I doused the lames, my eyes burning from the smoke. “I don’t know why you have to ruin everything I try to do! I don’t know why you can’t ever let me have an idea!” I ofered no response, focused solely on dampening the blackened ground so nothing could rekindle later. I thought back to that morning’s positive airmation from my daily calendar. I breathe in the calm; I release the tension. Appropriate. Taking in the smoky air felt strangely soothing. I smelled my childhood. My little brother Cole and I camping under the stars with Dad, listening with fascination as he told stories and pointed out every constellation. I smelled a time when my own children were little, roasting marshmallows and making s’mores in the irepit on summer nights. I breathed out my anger, allowing space for those sweeter memories to

ill me up. Allowing myself to be more than an exhausted caretaker. In those memories, I was a daughter, a sister, a mother, a friend. Mother was still ranting, though her voice had softened. She was remorseful, even if her words weren’t. It’s not my fault! I just wanted to clean up the yard! I’m allowed to clean up my yard! I turned the hose of and reeled it up before making my way to her side. I didn’t argue the fact that it wasn’t even her yard; it was mine. Instead, I gently reached my arm around her. “The leaves are lovely in the yard, Mom. They give it color.” “I like a clean yard.” She fussed. “I know.” I took another slow, controlled breath. “Why don’t you hand me that match box?” Her shoulders relaxed as she relinquished it, her eyes misting. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” I pressed my temple against her white hair. “I know, Mama. I know.” I began to guide her back towards the house, holding a steady arm under hers. “Goodness,” she gasped, “what a lovely Spring morning.” It was midOctober. “Yes, Mom. Today is lovely.” She suddenly stopped walking. I glanced down to examine her hesitation. Immediately recognizing the ambiguity in her eyes, I braced for impact. “Who are you?” A knife in my heart every time, never less sharp or painful. “I’m Carol, your daughter.” “Right.” Though she was clearly still confused. “Is this my house?” “It is, now, Mom. You moved in with me a few years ago.” “Why would I do that?” She threw a hand up, exasperated. “When Daddy died, you didn’t want to be alone anymore.” She couldn’t be alone anymore. “My Gary is gone?” Her eyes illed with tears. “Yes, Mama.” I hugged her closer. “I’m sorry, but he passed.” For a moment, she caved completely to my embrace. For a moment, we were both lonely and sad for the same reason. As the haze lifted from her mind, however, she promptly shewed me away. “I knew that, I knew that.” We resumed our walk back to the house. By the time I reached to open the door for her, she had already shifted gears again. “I’m so glad you decided

to come visit me today, honey.” “I’m glad, too, Mom.” I replied, making sure she saw my smile. I helped her settle comfortably into her recliner, ofering her the Sunday paper before hiding the matches. “Carol, have you seen these headlines, lately?” she called. “World’s going to Hell in a handbasket!” “It certainly is.” I agreed. She read a few minutes more before hastily and sloppily folding the paper. “I just don’t want to read any more of that nonsense.” She held the paper out for me to take. “It does no good to let all that negativity in. No good.” “Agreed.” I took the paper from her and helped it into the trash, full-well knowing in an hour, I’d regret having done it. Where’s the paper? You know I like to read the paper! I took a seat across from her, watching as she picked up her book of large print crossword puzzles and a pencil. She didn’t always ill it out. Sometimes she just liked to do it in her mind; sometimes she ignored it completely and opted for idle conversation; sometimes she would begin it and forget where she was or who I was minutes later. It varied day to day, hour by hour.

I can breathe in the calm; I can breathe out the tension. The words ran through my mind on a loop. My mother and I didn’t always have tension in our relationship. It wasn’t until she moved in with me and I became her full-time everything that the dynamic had truly shifted. There were days I wanted to scream into one of her needle-pointed pillows until my lungs gave out. There were days I felt like a child; completely helpless, missing my Mommy, wanting her to come back from wherever she’d gone that she couldn’t remember me. Then, there were those days, where I felt utter relief that nothing horrible had happened despite her best eforts, yet absolutely terriied that I could lose her at any moment, and not just to her broken mind. She made a few marks in her book and pride radiated from her smile. I was swept back to mornings around the breakfast table with her, Daddy, and Cole. Mother, nursing her mug of cofee heavily diluted with Splenda and cream, focused solely on the day’s crossword. Daddy, black cofee in hand, cursing intermittently at the sports section. Cole and I attempting to stile our laughs every time he used a really naughty word. Mother rarely noticed, just

worked at her puzzle, that same glow about her as she had now. I stood, deciding to sneak a peek. “How’s your puzzle this morning, Mama?” I leaned down to kiss her on the top of her head, but stopped short when I saw what she’d written in the provided squares. The irst answer had come easily enough: ADAGE. But that was it. Nothing but her name illed the rest of the boxes, over and over again. RHODA. No last name even. Did she remember her last name today? Possibly not. “That’s good, Mom. That’s good.” I blinked back tears. She closed the book and set it down next to her, reaching up to give my hand a quick squeeze afterward. I rested my head against hers a moment, a rope tightening around my heart as I breathed in her familiar scent. Ivory soap and just a hint of perfume, same as it had been the last sixty years. I ofered a kiss on her cheek, then stood to go have a silent cry in the bathroom. Before I could make it more than a few steps, I heard her chair groaning as she stood. “What a lovely Spring morning we’re having,” she remarked, clasping her hands together. “I think I might go for a walk along the back fence.” I wiped my face with the inside of my shirt, cleared my throat, then turned around to face her. “That’s a perfect idea, Mom, Do you mind if I join you?” “Oh! That’d be lovely. You know, I’m so glad you came to visit me today. I get so lonely.” “I’m glad I came today, too.” I joined her in her current version of the world. “Maybe you’ll meet my daughter one of these days. She comes to visit me sometimes.” I tensed up briely, pushing the pain aside. I breathe in the good. “I’d love to meet her.” I release the tension. She linked her arm in mine as we stepped out into the brisk October morning that still smelled of burning leaves.