Little Pocket Life

I can remember about eight times my mom worked while I was growing up. I know she worked more than that, but I don’t remember them very well. My dad would take us to A&W for dinner and we’d play miniature golf afterwards. We’d all fall asleep on the couch, teeth unbrushed, the t.v. flashing infomercials. Eddie would fall asleep with his baseball mitt on. Michael would be curled up next to me, holding my hand, still soapy and sticky from blowing bubbles on the porch.

Before my mom would take off for the hospital, she would ask me if I’d like to go with her. “You can be my little mouse, tucked here in my pocket, and go around with me tonight.” (My answer was always "yes." Though, I must admit, I was (am) squeamish and couldn’t (can’t) stomach the injuries and treatments.) Regardless, I always liked to think of myself as the mouse in the pocket of her pristine white nursing coat. I would keep my head below the opening for most of it, but at least we could eat dinner together and chit-chat while she delivered meds.

Now my mom and I live five airplane hours away. She left me today after a wonderful visit. My heart hurt as I said “good bye for now” and thought about becoming a mouse again.

It made me think of what I keep tucked in my pockets. What do I carry around to help me get by? I realized they're mostly stuffed with little gems of dialogue of fictional characters I’m getting to still know. I like to think that they are on a long escalator, gliding down to meet me once they're complex enough for a real go.

The other thing I collect in my pocket are the moments. You know them. The little hellos and good byes and passing how are yous and special I like yous that define our lives.

In all honesty, I collect the good goodbyes. I live them through, I write them out, I play them like old records. They are the moments that follow me around like the lingering refrain of a childhood lullaby. One that you find yourself humming as you wash the dishes or trim your bangs. They sneak up on you.

The most profound relationships demand the most moving good byes. And if you're really lucky, you never say good bye, you just say good bye for now.