Ten long years have passed since Mom was killed in a car accident one late, rainy, South Carolina night. She had mistaken an on ramp for an off ramp and was cruising down the Interstate going the wrong way when she ran head on into a truck. The trucker was o.k. except for the DUI ticket he got. It wasn't his fault, Mom always seemed to be going the wrong way, or at least her way which didn't seem at all similar to the path my friends' Moms were walking. Even so, Mom still had her own way of seeming to fit in, even when it seemed the most unlikely of outcomes.
Mom wanted badly for me to fit in but, unlike her, I had no desire to fit in. She remained confused by my non-conformity until the day she died. But looking back and thinking about it over the past ten years, I have turned out a lot like her. She just couldn't recognize the Ruthie-Marie version of herself. I travel a great deal, Mom always had her foot out the door. I like helping people, Mom always had an extra plate made up for the unfortunate elderly man who lived next door. I like to have parties (and then gracefully send people home), Mom liked to have parties that sometimes lasted for days. I have strange little superstitious sayings, Mom used them all the time.
I talked to Mom the day she died. She had a doctor's appointment to go to and she told me she would call to give me the results. I told her I loved her and that I would be waiting to hear back. It's ten years later now and I don't think I'll ever stop wanting to hear her voice on the other end of the line.
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