Empty Apartment

I couldn't begin to understand how it felt to lose a child, however, I am able to put Lorraine's death into another perspective, mine.
And in my sincerest opinion, Lorraine's death, wasn't really about Lorraine at all. It was about my parents. After all, it wasn't Lorraine who got a sympathy card in the mail that said 'so-and-so' was sorry for her loss, it was my parents who did.

After her death, it wasn't about how Lorraine's life had ended before her time, it was about how my parents would afford her funeral.
It was about, how sad my mother was and how she couldn't bring herself to get up and out of bed.
It was about, how angry my father was and how he hated God, because God repossessed a child he helped to nurture.
My parents' had let their grief manifest itself into a permanent part of their personalities.

Which was why, today, I was surprised to see my mother in the kitchen at the table. She had already made breakfast, scrambled eggs and toast, to go with her tea and her morning crossword.
It was unusual to see her up and about so early, after all, my mother hadn't left her bed on her own accord in years. My father would usually have to wake her up around three or four to remind her, she had to eat.
"Good morning, Cheyenne."

I found that the table too, had already been set. There was a plate for me and my mother, as well as a plate for my father- who was conspicuously absent.
At the center of the table there was a floral arrangement, one I hadn't either seen or paid particularly much attention to before. The napkin holder was situated near the center piece, along with a jar of jam and the butter plate.

My mother waited a moment before she would transfer her attention from her crossword to look at me, at which point I could hear her clear her throat.

"Good morning, mother."

She folded the newspaper-crossword in front of her into her lap, and re-situated her posture in the kitchen chair.
Her hands found her fork and her knife, and she began to eat.

"How are the eggs? Do they taste 'OK'?"
At the moment I was more preoccupied as whether or not she was 'OK'. I was glad she was up and about, but it wasn't natural.
"Personally, I think they could use a little salt."

I would raise my shoulders, nonchalantly, and I would continue to eat my eggs and toast. However, it was when she made for the pantry for the salt and pepper that her shirt would raise, past her midriff, and I could see a small, square, translucent patch. She was on her medication.
"Cheyenne-"

"Yes, mama?"

She held the salt and pepper shakers out to me to put on the table, and made for the refrigerator. I couldn't help but take notice as to how 'life-like' my mother appeared; and more importantly why- if the change in her disposition were so dramatic- she hadn't taken her medication before.

From the refrigerator my mother extracted a brown bag.
"I made you a lunch. It's bologna and cheese, on potato bread. I haven't been to the store- so I hope it's 'OK'. "

"Oh, no- mom, I'm sure it's great! You didn't have to-"

"But I wanted to, Cheyenne…"
I ate the last of my eggs, put my scraps in the trash, and I was about to put my plate into the sink when my mother touched my shoulder.
"We all have our good days and our bad days, Cheyenne, and I want today to be a good day. For me, for you, for Daddy…"

Before my mother could finish what she started, I made a desperate attempt to find a way out of our mother-daughter consultation.
The clock on the wall read 6:32, I had about ten minutes left to walk to the bus stop, four blocks away.
"That's great mom, really. Look, I have to run, but I'll see you later. Alright?"

I made for the door, and made sure to grab my lunch. I wasn't expecting my allowance until next week- I couldn't afford to buy lunch at school.

Finally, when I was out of ear-shot and past our mailbox, I began to weep because I couldn't understand.
I couldn't begin to understand how it felt to lose a child, but I am able to put Lorraine's death into another perspective, my life as her sister.
The sister, my mother couldn't bring herself to treasure, for a near decade.