Lost Journals

Jean was making up Peri's bed: fluffing pillows, double checking hospital corners and shaking folds out of the quilt.

"Hi Mom," Peri said. Looking at her mother was like looking into a lake; the image was identical but the ripples distorted the colours. Peri had dyed her hair for years to avoid Jean's mousy
brown mop and continued to don dark makeup as Jean wore none.

"You look tired."

"That I am. Will you wake me up in a few hours?"

Jean smiled and ducked out. Theirs was a relationship of respectful silence. Few words were needed to convey even the most complex feelings. Mom and daughter living a muted life.

Peri shed several layers, dropped then into the cedar chest, and slid between the sheets. She stared at the ceiling as her mind churned. So much to do. Not enough time. Zero motivation. Grandpa's dying. The lawyer is whining about retirement. Mom's not well. And all Peri wants is to be back in Colorado where she can ignore the spirits of the past. However, the ghosts were now taunting her: making faces, blowing raspberries and pulling her hair. She finally fell asleep imagining her return to Colorado and looking into *****'s eyes again: hazel, haunted and home.

Waking Peri from a hard sleep, Jean crawled in bed next to her and nestled into her arms. The roles were reversed; Mother was scared, the child wore a brave face and offered comfort.

The agoraphobia had started slow - a bit of anxiety while grocery shopping. It was magnified by Jean's position as an in-take nurse in the local emergency room. She'd seen the pain humans inflicted upon each other. She refused to be vulnerable and refused to leave the house.

Jean still worked full-time at the hospital. However, that was the extent of her excursions outside the house. A cousin - who was struggling to make ends meet - earned extra cash for an assortment of chores Jean was unable to perform.

Peri snuggled into her like a child holds a doll.

"You need to see your grandma."