Glitter and Glue

by Kelly Corrigan

I want to tell my mom that I admire her, the quiet hero of 168 Wooded Lane, the way she marched head-on into each uncertain moment, changing as the circumstances demanded, like finding a good-paying job at forty-eight with three kids in college. Even though I don’t always know what she’s talking about or why something bothers her or what’s making her smile, it doesn’t matter, I don’t care anymore, I love her. It’s like a good book: You don’t have to be able to decode every passage to want to hug it when you finish. Although I spend my Sunday mornings with The New York Times and a latte, I want her to know that sometimes, when I do go to church, I kneel in the pew and cry behind my hands. I don’t know what that means, except I am overwhelmed with feeling, and that feeling has something to do with her. I want her to know that I’ll take care of her, even when it’s not pretty or easy or cheap. Of course I will. The mother is the most essential piece on the board, the one you must protect. Only she has the range. Only she can move in multiple directions. Once she’s gone, it’s a whole different game.