Yesterday after leaving shrinking I ran into my second-grade teacher. She remembered me, and gave me a big hug and said I'm so tall now. "How are you, and how's your mother doing?"
I stay so close to home that I forget some people don't know. It was so talked about and gone over from every different angle and I just forgot. I forgot that "Oh you poor child" look that I hate that adults give when they hear about it. I forgot that "I'd be devestated if it were MY mother" look, and the "Better her mother than mine" followed by the "No, that's a horrible thing to think, I hope it doesn't show on my face" look.
It's much easier when everyone knows and everyone is used to us talking about it. They don't flinch when they talk about their mothers in front of me, or when I start a sentence with "My mom taught me ...".
So Ma? Mrs. Kruptman sends her regards. She remembered that you sewed all the costumes for our West Side Story play. And that you brought in our yellow baby bathtub for the class ducks.
2 comments:
I know those looks. It's been almost 20 years since my mother died, and i still hate that furious pity and fear.
Running into someone who didn't know my mother had died was one of my most hated things when I was a teenager.
You did West Side Story in second grade?
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