Note: This did not go to my beta-readers, and it just grabbed me and MADE me write it all in one sitting in a half an hour. There comes a time in everyone's life when all they want is to tell their mother something... and if you're lucky, your mother is still there to tell. As I watch my own mother long for hers on this Mother's Day, this hit me. It might even be a bit unfinished ... I may, in the end, write a series of them. Who knows? :)
Feedback and constructive criticism to gabi@gies.com.
A Mother's Touch by Terri Hayes
The silence of the cemetary was broken only by the peaceful whispering of leaves in a gentle breeze, and the sun illumated Dick's face with golden fingers from above as he walked toward the headstones which marked the graves of his parents. Bruce had made sure they were buried in a sunny place near a brook. His parents would have liked the solitude of the spot.
As he approached the site, Dick was surprised to see an old woman sitting by his mother's grave, apparently resting. He stopped for a moment, somehow reluctant to intrude, but she seemed to know he was there. She turned to smile in his direction, beckoning him closer. "Come, gypsy child. Sit a moment with me."
Something... some memory from years ago... he couldn't quite catch it. "Do I know you?" Dick asked, looking intently into her blue eyes. "Did you know my parents?"
"Perhaps," was the quiet, amused reply. "It has been many years, but I knew them well, Richard." She nodded toward the violet pansies in Dick's hands, clearly meant for the gravesites. "You honor her."
Dick looked down and toyed with the flowers, his reply soft. "It's Mother's Day. They were her favorite." He smiled a little sadly. "She always said pansies were the shy flower, that they reminded her of my Dad when he was courting her."
The elderly woman chuckled softly, her silvery-white curls bobbing about her pink cheeks. "That sounds like something she'd say, yes. She loved your father... and she was very proud of you, young one. You were the joy of her life."
Dick moved toward his mother's headstone, dropping to one knee and gently placing the flowers at the base of the stone with one hand while spreading the free one over the engraved letters of his mother's name. His response was a whisper. "I know."
Seating herself on a nearby bench, the old woman watched him. Finally she said, "You don't believe that, do you? You bring flowers at the holidays and birthdays, and you bring your guilt every time, don't you, young one?" Her tone held no censure, only compassion.
Dick looked up at her, and he nodded. Climbing to his feet, he moved slowly to sit next to the silver-haired woman who seemed so familiar. "You know how they died?"
"Of course."
Dick nodded slightly, his voice choked. "I dream about it at night still. Not as much as I did at first... but occasionally. I know there was nothing I could do intellectually... but my heart doesn't listen. Even now." He rarely admitted that to anyone. Not even Barbara in the dark of night, when they spoke of things that were never mentioned in the light of day. But something about this woman made him just open his mouth and let it come.
A gnarled hand reached up to smooth dark hair back from Dick's brow. "I know, child." She smiled gently. "You are much like your father... both of them. You take responsibility for things that you could not have changed. Your parents would never have blamed you, Richard. Don't you know that? Their last thoughts would have been of you. Of the hope that you were not falling with them. It's said that seconds slow to eternity in those last seconds. I imagine their whole lives flashed before them. All of the things they had seen and done... and all the things they hoped for you would have filled those seconds. And guilt is not something they would have wanted for you to feel. Only joy and happiness."
The lump in Dick's throat was too large to speak for a time. "I often wonder, when I come here on Mother's Day or a holiday or their birthdays... what they would have thought of me."
The old woman seemed surprised. "Why, Richard! You should already know the answer to that," she chided softly. "You were their world."
Dick smiled just a little. His secrets were large, and he often wondered if his parents would have approved of his nighttime occupation. "I know they loved me, ma'am. But there are things about me that ... I'm not so sure they'd be glad to see."
Blue eyes studied Dick intensely, and she nodded slowly. "Much weighs on your mind, young one."
Dick found himself confiding in the old woman, not even sure himself why. "My life has been ... interesting, that's for sure. Moving in with Bruce was an adventure, but he wasn't anything like Dad. I miss the affection that Mom and Dad were always so open with. Bruce....." He paused. "We don't even talk much anymore. Oh, don't get me wrong. I know that he loves me, and I love him too. But... we just don't communicate at all. And I *want* to. But I don't know how."
Amusement radiates from the elderly woman's blue eyes. "You seem to be doing quite well right now."
"But that's with you!" Dick's voice held a tone of remorse. "Bruce and I can't seem to talk at all, about anything. I have sort of an adopted 'little brother', Tim. I can talk to him sometimes. He spends a lot of time with Bruce, so he understands what I mean. And Alfred's the greatest. But..."
Dick stopped, looking toward the headstones with a lonely expression. The woman finished for him. "But you miss your mother and father, gypsy child. Because they understood you." She squeezed his hand, and Dick squeezed back.
"There are so many things in my life that I've wanted to talk to my father about... or even to Bruce about. Sports, girls, life. And my mom." Dick was quiet for a moment, and then continued after wiping tears away. "I want to talk to my mom about the hardest thing of all. Love. Cuz, see... there are women in my life, and I don't understand them. My landlady is a really great girl, and I don't understand why I can't like her the way she likes me. My mind is still hung up on a girl that I've felt things over for years. A schoolboy crush turned so much more... and I'm scared of it, and she's scared of it... and I don't know what to do to fix my life. I miss my mom."
Soft arms wrapped around the strong young man and cradled him to a shoulder. Tenderly, the old woman whispers as he cried. "It's all right, child. It's all right. Just cry it out. It's fine."
When the tears finally slowed, Dick remained hugging the elderly lady for a long moment. He whispered in her ear, "Thank you. You have no idea what your kindness means to me."
Smiling, the old woman released him and gently dried his face. "Remember that your parents loved you, Richard. Even now, they look down on you and are proud of the man that you've become. You have not lived an easy life, but you are a strong young man with values they are proud of, and friends that you can rely on. It is a good life, even with the bumps in the road." She smoothed his hair back from his face again, her eyes lingering over his features. "The bumps in the road are the zest in life to a Romany, child. Take it as it comes, and have faith. It *will* turn out for the best." Leaning upward to kiss Dick's cheek, she moved to stand. "I will leave you to speak with your mother, Richard. Be well."
Dick soaked up the gentle affection like a sponge, not understanding why it soothed his heart so effectively. As the woman stood, Dick stood too, towering over her frail frame. "Will I see you again?"
The old woman smiled serenly again. "Perhaps. I have looked after you all of your life, gypsy child... I see no reason to stop now."
When Dick looked surprised, she nudged him gently. "Be well, young one." Then she turned and looked as if she'd walk away. Dick's eyes slid to his mother's headstone, and he took several steps toward it. He'd come to talk to his mother, as he did every year. But this year, his heart had been in turmoil. Now, all he felt was calm. "I love you, Mom. Happy Mother's Day."
He turned to look back toward the path that the elderly woman would take to leave the cemetary, intending to walk her out. Where was she? He scanned the entire cemetary. There was no way she could have left so quickly.
A gentle breeze picked up again, ruffling his dark hair. He turned his face into it, and had the strangest sensation...
*Daddy and I love you, little Robin. We are more proud than you will ever know. Have faith... your love will see you through.*
The whisper of the wind brought with it the intense knowledge that when he'd most needed his mother, she'd been there. "Mom?" he whispered softly, finally understanding why the old woman's touch brought peace in its wake.
The only answer was the soft kiss of the breeze as it wound around him lazily, as if he was enfolded in angel's wings for a mother's kiss. And then it was gone.
Dick wrapped his arms around himself and then moved to touch the headstone. Through tears, he smiled gently as he traced his parents names with a fingertip. Then he turned to leave the cemetary, a lightness to his step that hadn't been there before.
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No one can be a boy wonder forever.