Hey Garlin'

Mama always KNEW when we needed her. There were times when I was sick or just plain sad and Mama would call and ask how I was doing and before the end of our conversation, I just felt better. Maybe not great, but certainly better. Somehow, she just KNEW.

So, when she died, there was a gaping hole. So much so, that in the days after her death, I didn't want to be alone, I didn't want to think too hard about who and how to fill that hole. So, I found myself "needing" company. Me and Renata, Me and Maya, Me and Alex, but rarely just me. I didn't want to be alone.

This was one of those "me and Renata" trips. We were in the car, and Maya happened to be in the back seat. Renata and I were having one of those conversations that don't require thinking -- we were just talking to fill the empty space. When, out of the blue, Maya said "Hey Garlin".

Cue slo mo. Renata and I looked at each other to confirm that we had both heard what we heard. We looked to confirm that it wasn't a bad dream, that we hadn't just misunderstood what 4 year old Maya had just said.

Let me explain. When any of us called Mama on the phone, her usual response was "Hey Darlin". She said it so sweetly that it disarmed you. Even if you called to fuss a little bit, that "hey darlin" just moved you to a whole 'nother place. Mama's "hey darlin" was the sweetest sound that I imagined. It was so sweet that when I couldn't hear it from her, I imagined her whispering it in my ear. So, it was with total shock and surprise, that Renata and I both realized that Maya, in her baby-speak, had just voiced Mama's very personal greeting.

Back to the car incident. We didn't say anything for a while, we just looked at each other and then looked away. I'm not sure which one of us finally got the nerve to risk sounding crazy by saying "Did you hear that? Did she say that?" At that momemt with no prompting, she said it again.

Hey Garlin'

We didn't tell anyone because we didn't need to tell anyone. That message was just for us, because we needed to hear it. For the next few days, intermittenly, like windshield wipers on the slowest speed, Maya would say "Hey Garlin". Having moved from shock to acceptance, we simply smiled, then as quickly as she started saying "Hey Garlin", she simply stopped.

We asked her, even begged her to repeat the greeting. We'd say, "Say it, Maya, say Hey Darlin", then we resorted to "Hey Garlin" and she'd give us that blank look that every baby gives when they just don't get it. No more "Hey Garlin"s came forth, but that's when we realized that we didn't really need them anymore.

Just like Mama. She gave us what we needed when we needed it most. In death, just like in life, Mama knew when we needed her and she was there for us. Then she was gone.

Goodnight, Garlin'