Footprints in the Sand

July 2nd was my mom’s birthday. She passed away over ten years ago, but the date still stands out to me. I suppose it always will. So it’s appropriate that today’s excerpt includes this section. When I wrote today’s excerpt, I had in my mind a vision of a print that my mom kept on her wall, framed in an 8x10 wooden frame, of the “Footprints” poem, just like I described it below.

This passage is all in italics because it is from Benny’s chapter yet this section is his mom, Betty, separating from Benny for a brief while. I chose to use italics to indicate that it was a parallel storyline happening at the same time as Benny’s story continues.

Outside she crossed the street and sat down on the hard, forest-green bench. Exhaustion overwhelmed! Her bag made a thud as she let it slip to the sidewalk and land between her feet. She was bone-tired, even though it seemed like all she ever did these days was sit somewhere. Sitting outside the hospital was different than sitting inside. Inside the hospital she couldn't escape the smells and sounds or the anguish that now owned her soul. Outside, if she shut her eyes, preventing the view of the imposing ochre-colored brick hospital edifice in front of her, she could be deluded by the stench of exhaust fumes and noises of traffic and allow her mind to pretend, just for a moment, that she was waiting to get on the bus to or from work. Just for a moment she could pretend that her beloved son was safely at school, living a normal life. The moment was always brief, too quickly disrupted by a car horn or loud engine that sounded a little too close for comfort and caused her eyes to snap open reflexively.

The day was bright, and she squinted from the sun's reflection of of the hospital windows and asphalt street. After listening to countless lectures from her sister-in-law at every family barbeque they attended about squinting leading to wrinkles, she knew it was essential to put on her sunglasses, but she almost didn't have the energy. She had just begun to lean forward and reach for them in her bag when she caught sight of the bus. Her hand changed direction without a conscious thought and rather than reaching into her bag it grasped the straps and hoisted it up to her shoulder as she stood. An "uumph" escaped from somewhere deep inside Betty as a counterbalance to the energy required to stand and step toward the curb.