I'll scratch yours

By Terry

Emily showed up at my bedside late Friday night. Nothing unusual about that, really. She's been a terrible sleeper for years. I lifted my blankets, and she slid into the flap. She curled into me, a wee demitasse spoon. I scratched her back, lightly, and she mumbled, "Under," as she does every time, reminding me that she prefers to feel my nails directly on her skin, rather than through her pajamas.

I thought of Mark. Mark, the best friend I've ever had. Mark, for whom little Jonah Mark is named. Mark, who loved me best, who let me love him best in return. Incredibly, December will make seven years since his death. Soon I will have been without him longer than I was with him.

He lived with the HIV for so long that everyone who knew him was lulled into believing that he could go on like that forever. When AIDS took control of his body, it was a surprise all over again. Everything changed. He was hospitalized for most of the last year. His hair fell out. He turned yellow. He became incontinent. At the end, his muscles were atrophied; his hands curled under his chin and he could no longer sit up or get out of bed. Six feet tall, he weighed less than 90 pounds when he died.

Sometime in that last year, his mother came from Texas. She lived in New York, in a facility that provides long-term low-cost housing for the families of AIDS patients. She was at the hospital, at his side, every day.

One day, I went to visit and I saw Mark roll over and I heard him say, "Mama, scratch my back, please." The sounds he made while she scratched were just like the sounds Emily made in my bed, murmurs and whispers of comfort and happiness and the joy of being loved.

I hope every day for the health and long lives of my children. I also hope that, if I do my work well now, when they are grown, I will still be loving them and mothering them with my whole heart, scratching them where they need it most even after they think they don't need it anymore.

Comments

[Michelle]

That gave me a lump in my throat. May your friend rest in peace. Let's hope for a miracle from science one day.

[AGK]

A true parent's dream indeed. :)