Read To Me

Cory felt good going to run that errand for me and Jake.  How do I know?  Yet, another Italy revelation.  Here it is:

Throughout the trip, I found myself in the sometimes subtle and sometimes obvious role reversal that comes when your parent has reached an older age.  I found myself taking her hand, or linking arms with her, without even thinking about it, as we prepared to cross busy streets.  When we had stairs to climb, I was there to steady her, and bridge the gaps between handrails.  I found myself wanting her at a close distance if we needed to part ways, and checking back on her often.

One night when I came up from writing in the lobby, I found Mom still awake, with the TV turned to the only channel that was in English- CNN.  She asked me how the writing was going.  I told her it was going great.  She then said, "I wish I could read your blogs, but my eyes bother me at night."

"Do you want me to read them to you?"  I asked, with a bittersweet smile.  One of the pieces on my blog is the last thing I ever read to Cory, about thirty minutes or so before she died.

"Well, if you don't mind...I'd love to hear them." she responded.

That is how I found myself staying up until four in the morning reading to my mother, recreating that sweet, sweet memory of the marathon reading session of  Dolores Claiborne to Cory.  Only this time, the words were my own, and the stories were my soul.

As I finished each one, parts of which caused her to giggle and parts which made her cast her eyes downward, lost in some memory, I'd ask her if she wanted me to go on.

"Oh yeah, keep going.  You write so good."  she smiled, closing her eyes, all the better to hear.

I read to her until she was fully caught up with our doings in beautiful Italy.  I turned out the lamp, and put my head on the pillow, feeling full and happy to have helped someone so important to me, even in a small way, that has helped me so much throughout my entire life.

There in Rome, in the dark which would give way to sunrise soon, I smiled, knowing Cory had felt exactly the same way.  I recalled the light in her eyes, the nonchalance with which she threw over her shoulder, "It's just down the road.", and the bounce of her steps out the back door.  Cory loved to help.

She was a caregiver, too.