In another life…

My mother never met her grandson. By the time he was born, she was in her 70’s and cataracts had already begun to cloud her vision. Still, she could feel him with her touch.

Whenever we visited her in her room at the senior assisted living facility, I would place my son – Charlie – next to her on the bed. “Say hi to grandma, Charlie.” Charlie would laugh and pat his grandmother’s hand and my grandmother would pat his leg.

Then my mother would laugh, “You are just like you mother when she was a baby – a big baby.” She would place emphasis on the word “big.”

“Mom,” of course Charlie is big, he’s almost a year old, at least, that’s what his adoption paperwork said.

“What…” my mother said rhetorically, “you were a chubby little child, there’s no denying it. The proof’s in the pictures.” She couldn’t see it but my cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. Of course, I remember, she practically reminded me every time she saw the picture of her holding me on the fridge. “I’m happy that you’ve finally considered adoption.” My mother said after a moment and smiled, “You would be lonely without me.”

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