18 Years

“Meet our Mom,” he says, introducing me to a petite older woman.
She is visiting for the first time.
She shakes my hand, smiles and sits down across from me.
They will teach her how to make Lavender bouquets.
I watch her concentrate intently on her work and interact with her kids.
The way she laughs reminds me of my Mom and I start to choke up.
Abruptly I get up and head for the bathroom, averting my eyes to hide my tears.
For five minutes I hide, quietly sobbing into my shirt.
Splashing my face with cold water, trying to hide the puffiness.
Composed enough I head back to table. She looks at me and asks if I’m okay.
“I’m allergic to the Lavender,” I respond.
An excuse trying to hide the residual shimmer in my eyes.

A few days later I find out that two of the kids have not seen their Mom in 18 years.
That is how long it took for them to get her a visa to visit.
I cannot help it, I start to cry!
“Why are you crying?” they ask. “Out of happiness for you,” I say!
And I truly mean it!
Yet secretly wishing I could see my Mom again too….



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