Laughter, A Vignette

I am in the seventh day of a master class with The Inky Path exploring writing about our mothers. It is like gazing into a reflecting pool and watching for memories to surface.  I am learning that it takes stillness to allow the brain to relax its tight grip on memories, I tug on a memory, and my heart tugs back, reluctant to feel the pain of her loss and absence. But then there is no joy either, so it has been an exercise in daring greatly to remember my mother, the pain and the joy.

I hope you enjoy this remembered treasure.

“For thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and Glory.” And she goosed him. And him a visitor to our country parish.

Raising her arms at the closing line of the “Our Father,” my well-mannered, genteel mother goosed the gentleman in front of us with her cane. He jumped. She apologized.

I snorted. Her lips twitched. Daring a glance out of the corner of my eye, I caught her eye in a rare twinkle. A giggle squeezed out of tightly held lips, tears started to emerge from our eyes that for once were not of sorrow. Our shoulders shook as we were regaled with peals of silent laughter.

Two souls entwined in the moment, the thirty-eight years that separate us evaporate. No longer seventy and thirty-two, we are four-year olds about to be excused to the lobby. Our hands touch as we exchange tissues to catch our falling tears and stifle the remaining hiccups of laughter.

Connection. Healing. Restoration.

“Now and Forever. Amen.”