I was in the middle of a great love.
My mother and my son are both Geminis. Her birthday was June 13th and his is June 20th. They were, for a time, my twins. I watched my mother become the best grandmother and friend a boy could have. Like me, Connor has Asperger’s Syndrome. He does not open up to many people and he is very quiet. Mom was only 4’10” and she would get right down on the floor with him. Their connection was deep and true and full of laughter.
I moved back home in 2008 when my mom’s breast cancer had returned. She had had a radical mastectomy in 2006, followed by chemo. Although she had somewhat accepted all the accoutrements of the disease, she never really embraced them. She had wigs, hats, shirts with allowances for drains, post-mastectomy bras, and even weighted falsies. She had all the necessary crap that they dole out to women who lose a breast in an attempt to make them acceptably normal to society. It wasn’t her and it wasn’t comfortable. And it all ended up stuffed in her sock drawer while she sat bald, braless and comfortable binge=watching The Sopranos.
One day though, one special day of birthday magic smack in the middle of June, a miracle happened. We always celebrated their birthdays together. I had brought Connor over for his 8th birthday, Boston cream pie, candles, flowers, little gifts for both.
The oven was on, and the air conditioner was going full blast. Although she was sweating, her tiny feet were like blue ice. She asked Connor to go grab a pair of socks for her. He headed into her bedroom.
“HEY!” he exclaimed. “HEY!”
“What is it, Sugar Booger?”
“Granny! I found a belly!”
“I found a belly!” Connor darted out of her room and ran into the kitchen with his shirt hiked up and a heavy flesh-colored false boob slapped on his stomach. He pushed his stomach out proudly.
My mom and I burst out laughing. Neither one of us ever would have thought of it. Connor wore the magic “belly” the rest of the evening. He fell asleep on her couch full of lasagna and cake, clutching a stuffed Pikachu with one hand and the “belly” with the other.
It was magic indeed. This was love, laughter and true imagination holding fast against loss, pain and the precious knowledge that life is finite.
When the cancer came back, it came back everywhere. My son was 10. He was so open and caring and happy with her. He would stay with her while I ran out to get her groceries.
When she was hospitalized, I would watch them walk down the corridor together. Both blonde, the same height, sharing knock-knock jokes. Because between them nothing was about cancer or autism. It was about love. No labels, no expectations, no prognosis. Just love in its most honest, accepting expression. And I was in the middle, watching in awe, as both their halos shone bright.
My mom passed in late July 2010. My son turns 19 on Tuesday.
He has grown into a wonderful, smart, and loving human being. He’s a responsible young man who has a good job, attends school and takes good care of himself. He is a brilliant artist in the middle of producing his own comic book. He is a grown version of that child who sees people without limits and finds laughter in unexpected places.
I am still in the middle of a great love. And so incredibly grateful to be his mom.
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