Wishful Indulgence

I am on my way to pick up a mystery gift. I am fantasizing about what it might be.

The mother I haven't seen or spoken to in 12 years has canceled her trip planned for next week. I was so accommodating that I agreed to have lunch with her on Wednesday -- 9/11. But this morning her husband sent an email informing Zoe and me that the trip has been canceled. My mother is currently having a short stay in the hospital due to a mini stroke. More likely than not she's just had a panic attack and chickened out. Or she wigged out enough to give herself a trip to the hospital.

Possibly I seem unsympathetic, callous even. But I'm allowed to.

Now I will tell my children that the grandmother they've never met is not coming. I will tell them she got sick. I will not tell them I think she just flaked out.

I have never told them anything about her other than a vague indication that she did not take very good care of me. I have not spoken of her in way that would cause them to feel anything but open to her. I have barely spoken of her at all. When asked one can tell a child that a person they've never met is "gone". They will not press for details.

So I have never told Sam and Leo anything to justify her paranoia and anxiety. But of course she doesn't know that. And she's too paranoid to believe me even if she asked.

So today Zoë and I are bidden to collect the gifts she sent in advance of her arrival.

Right now I am indulging myself in the giddy feeling that something wonderful will be in that box. Not a dish towel, or an ugly tchotchke, or something in a frame that says god on it.

The email from her latest husband--either number 4, or 5 I think--indicated a small, square box. So I am dreaming--wishing with all my heart--that I will open it to find a card from Thos. Moser telling me something beautiful has been ordered especially for me. I am giddy, my insides are tingling and all my muscles are in that peculiar state of being both being ready to spring and ready to swoon.

Here sits a jungle cat, a panther poised in the instant before pouncing on its prey. Simultaneously I am locked in that precise moment when I am not touching my soon to be lover. When we are as close as two can possibly be, when the frisson blinds you both and the promise of what's to come--the bliss of joining, of melting together is an unstoppable force.

So for now it's something made of cherry, something made with love, alive and beautiful. Right now the contents of that box is the deepest, most profound way of saying something to much for words. This gift says take this thing of beauty, take it to your heart and embrace it as I embrace you. Be with it in your nest everyday, use it and love it and know that it's permanence is your steady reminder of my love for you. With this gift know that my love for you is always there. Even when I am not.

It will probably be a dish towel. With a lobster on it.