After my Dad died, before she moved to Florida, my Mom and I spent a lot of time together. Something that happened to me last night reminded me of one of those times.
We were watching the Grey Cup, for sentimental reasons, on my part. It’s not that she wasn’t also sentimental about it, but she might actually have liked the game, I did not.
The sentiment comes in because my father played in a number of Grey Cup finals, winning at least one, as a member of the Toronto Argonauts Football Team.
That day, we watched a good portion of the game on the television in the ER waiting room.
My Mom had beautiful hands, and most often had long nails, polished in red. That day she had scratched at her eye, and unwittingly scratched the eyeball, causing some bleeding in the white part of the eye.
We only knew it happened when she turned to me and I saw this scary red eyeball. Concerned she might have scratched the cornea, we went to the ER. I remember she had drops and an eye patch for a few days after.
This morning I was up, in and out of the bathroom without turning on the light, or looking in the mirror. I got the garbage out, fiddled around and worked on the painting that is my current project.
When I went to the bathroom, still without turning the light on, (I live alone and leave the light off as I leave the door open), I did a quick glance in the mirror and saw this dark spot on my face. I assumed it was paint. On closer look, I saw my left eye was puffy, and the underside purple, like a black eye. What the hell?
I vaguely remember my eye bothering me last night, when I was in bed, reading, and I must have rubbed it, harder than I thought. My eye still feels funny, so I may have to have it checked if it’s not better tomorrow. But I enjoyed the memory of my Mom, and miss her as much as ever.
Maybe I’ll watch the Grey Cup this year, just being sentimental, you know.