In Which Her Mother Comes To Call

My friend just skype-asked me,

how is your friday?

To which I replied,

good

started it with my mom

feels like a hundred years ago



she woke up early and dressed,

and lied down beside me until i had to get up

and i cried



She came to Italy last Friday to stay with me in and around Torino for one week, and it was glorious! From start to finish with no itinerary, just to be mom and daughter and catch up on the past ten months apart. I introduced her to the people who have been taking care of me here, like the florist, Monica (who gave her freesia, tulips, and a present for her new house); one of the boys' friends' moms, Silvia, (one of the few neighborhood mothers who doesn't work full time and thus mothers everyone else's kids... and au pairs...) over whose kitchen table I poured out many a wintertime woe; family members nonna Mariucia (who doesn't speak a word of English), zio Enrico and nipote Marta; and the Carpaneto family themselves. She and I weathered one lightning and thundering rainshower, some overcastness, some days of warm sunshine, and one intensely long country lunch on Easter Monday. We saw a castle-turned-museum, some horses, a lot of La Crocetta (my neighborhoos), and one important episode of "House" in our pajamas in my bed when we couldn't fall asleep.

On Thursday morning, on the way to Parco Valentino, she rubbed my back in that unconscious circular mothery way and tears sprang to my eyes so fast that I had to cover my mouth. I buried my face in her shoulder and, smack in the middle of the sidewalk, with cars driving past and old men hobbling by, my mommy held in her arms the sum of my homesickness for Berkeley and my family, my homesickness for Colorado and college, my guilt for having moved away again, my frustrations and doubts. Maybe she cried, too, for all the heartbreaks in between. When we resumed our walk she asked me if I needed a Kleenex, and instead of my customary grateful acceptance of the rumpled tissue from the bottom of her purse, I refused; for, since I've started working with these kids and never leave home without a pack, I had my own!