Smiles

​The day before Mom died was as normal a Tuesday as I could have expected.  I ran a few errands for Mom while she spent the morning cleaning. At one point Mom called me into her room and asked “Kiya, will you please help me hang up these suits.” One by one she unpacked her suitcase from our recent travels and handed me the suits she’d purchased in NYC. When she came across a till-colored suit coat with grey dress pants she said, “This one is my favorite.” I smiled and said “It is pretty” to which she responded, “Kiya, THIS one is my favorite.” I caught the emphasis she placed on it, but didn’t take it as more than her expressing strong admiration for a new suit.
 
Later that morning Mommy said, “I was going to go to the hospital today, but I have some business to take care of in Durham.” She explained the business and I promised to take care of it in the coming days if she would simply let me take her to the hospital. Surprisingly, Mom bargained with the tradeoff of me greasing her scalp. “What? Mommy, I don’t mind but not one is going to see your hair at the hospital. We are only going to be there a day or two.” “Kiya,” she said sternly, “I would like you to grease my scalp.” Confused, I did as I was told as she sat peacefully.
 
When I finished, she jokingly said “Now, let me go look in the mirror to see what you have done!” Smiles. I suppose Mom approved of my handiwork (lol) because when she came back into the room she was ready to go.
 
Time after time I’ve re-played this interaction in my mind. I smile. Nostalgic memories of Mom greasing my grandmother’s scalp on a Saturday afternoon linger in my mind. I smile. I think of the beautiful till-colored suit, which was the suit in which Mom was buried. I smile. Though her last 24 hours were full of tears (from me), there were also many, many smiles.