Priscilla’s birthday was this week, as I said in one of my recent posts. She spent it with her mother, but Charlotte also wanted to spend some time with her, so they arranged for Charlotte to pick her up from her mother’s house today so the two of them could go shopping.
Shahidi, observing for me, was concerned about this, as it was the first time that Charlotte and Maria were to speak. They were, however, very civil, and I arrived just in time to see Maria and Charlotte shaking hands, genuine warmth in both of their thoughts.
“You both have fun,” Maria said, waving to her daughter, who was already in Charlotte’s car.
“Oh, we will,” Priscilla called back to her mother, which made both women smile.
Charlotte looked at Maria, noting the similarities between mother and daughter. “It was nice to meet you, Maria,” she said, more truthfully than most humans do when they say these rote words. “And thank you for loaning me your daughter.”
There was more significance in those words than their surface meaning allowed, and Maria acknowledged it with a raised eyebrow and a rueful smile. “Well, I’m sure you’ll take care of her.”
“Absolutely,” Charlotte said, and it was a promise.
Then Priscilla began honking the horn. “Come on, Char!”
The shopping trip was rather uneventful for the most part—Priscilla and Charlotte are beginning to get along very well. The conversation that I remember best occurred while they were looking at dresses for an upcoming dance.
Fingering a long blue skirt, Priscilla glanced at Charlotte. “I think my mom likes you,” she said. “I was worried she wouldn’t.”
Charlotte paused, but didn’t look up from her perusal of a red sequined[1] dress. “You wanted her to like me?” she asked.
“Well, yeah,” Priscilla said. “I mean, I didn’t want the two of you to fight.”
Charlotte looked up, a rueful smile on her face. “Because then you’d have to take sides,” she observed, “and you’d take hers.”
Priscilla looked down, moving along the row of dresses. “She’s my mom,” she said helplessly.
Charlotte followed her, setting a hand on her shoulder. “I know, Pris, and no one can ever step into her shoes. That kind of relationship is irreplaceable. But I’m not trying to fight with your mother.” She pushed a strand of Priscilla’s hair behind her ear. “I think there’s room in your life, and your father’s, for both of us.”
Her words made Priscilla smile, and she nodded. “Thanks, Char.”
“Anytime. Now, come on.” Charlotte took Priscilla’s hand and motioned to the end of the row. “I think I found the one.”
She had, and Priscilla looked beautiful, but I was distracted through the entire rest of the evening, thinking about what Charlotte had said. She is right—one’s relationship with one’s mother is like nothing else on Earth. I’m reminded of the influence Tammy and Lamarr’s mothers had on them, how Ramona makes weekly long-distance calls to her mother, despite the expense, and how Freya still writes letters to hers.
The love of a mother is the closest one can come to heavenly love on earth. Imagine the love of someone who gave room in her own flesh for you, who would sacrifice much to see to your smallest happiness. We angels know this love well, but sometimes a mother’s love is the only taste of heaven humans get.
Of course it can be corrupted, as can all things on the front lines of our Long Fight. But I have to believe that it can be repaired, too. If it cannot, nothing else in creation can.
[1] Sequins are tiny objects sewn onto clothing to make it sparkle. I learned a great deal more about clothing on this expedition and will be happy to share my knowledge with anyone who is interested.