I was
sitting at the dinner table eating lunch with my two children, ages
four and seven when the phone rang. It's funny, but I don't think one
is ever prepared for those calls that bring bad news. Christina, James
and I were chatting away, deciding what we'd do in the summer afternoon
sun. Everything seemed normal one minute and then suddenly reality crashed
into many little pieces as I tried to comprehend the words coming through
the mouthpiece.
Agnes
was our next door neighbor growing up. It seemed like she was always
old from my childhood eyes. First she was there when I was in kindergarten,
babysitting me after school until my father got home. She baked me birthday
cakes because that was one of the things my dad wasn't good at. It was
funny how she always knew when something in our household needed mending,
if I needed a haircut, or if it was near time for me to start my period
for the first time. She explained things to me in a way that my father
couldn't have. Did he know she was standing in for my mom who I lost
when I was three? Did he thank her enough when we lived there? I'd asked
myself that many times as I became an adult.
I'm
sure he did, but to be sure, three summers earlier, before that call,
my little family drove down to my home town and spent the day with Agnes.
We brought a birthday cake and some drawings my son had made. Agnes
watched from the porch as we drove up and I presented a young family
not much different from the one that at one time lived in the yellow
house next door. It was a glorious visit. I made sure to find a few
minutes alone with her to let her know that she was like a mother to
me, that I'd not forgotten the scraped knees she cleaned and bandaged,
the funny haircuts she gave me, and the words of wisdom she imparted
on me as a teenager beginning to date. We talked about our tea parties
and walks to the park. She reminded me of the times she'd open the front
door to find me sitting there waiting for her to emerge with the break
of day.
Agnes
didn't have any children. I didn't have a mother. What a match we were.
As I grew up, each milestone in my life made Agnes seem more important.
I look back at my vision of an "old" woman, and realize that
when I met her, she was about my age now. My children are grown up and
I still remember Agnes. I still remember that call from my father telling
me that Agnes was gone. She was so special to me and my brother, both.
My brother's family and mine planted a tree for Agnes in the park near
our old home. That was nearly twenty-five years ago. This summer we
had a family reunion near that tree and talked about growing-up memories....
and Agnes.
