“I always wondered what it would’ve been like to grow up here,” he said softly.
“To grow up with her… with siblings.”
At that moment, I realized something. We couldn’t change the past.
We couldn’t give Mark the childhood he missed or undo the years of silence.
Mom would have had her reasons for keeping her secret.
And who were we to judge her?
But what we could do was give him this: our stories, our memories, our love.
“Mark, I’m starving,” I said. “Shall I teach you how to make Mom’s pancakes and maybe her lasagna, too? There were always these little things she added, breaking the usual recipes.”
“Let’s go,” Mark smiled.
“I’m sure I have everything here.”
My sisters were happy just drinking their coffee and watching Hallmark movies on the TV while Mark and I cooked for them.
“What are we doing first?
The pancakes or the lasagna?” Mark asked, getting the flour out.
“The lasagna,” I said. “And then the pancakes while we wait.”
Mark grinned.
“I’m sorry we had to meet this way,” he said.
“But I’m not sorry to be here.”
“I know,” I agreed. “I’m happy we’re here.
And in a way, I’m happy that Mom is at peace.
Toward the end, the chemo really began to eat at her. She was tiny… sad. A shell of who she was.”
Mark remained silent as I chopped the onions.
“But this house?
It feels like she’s still here.
It will always be home, Mark.”
🤔🤔🤔
Source: amomama
