It started with a shopping trip. I wanted her to try on a pair of leather pants I'd seen. I remembered a suede pair she had in the seventies and knew she'd look smashing. Thrilled she was going along with my plan, I hustled around the store looking for tops before she changed her mind. I encountered resistance with each piece. The silky white blouse would "wash her out". I said it's beautiful, just wear lipstick. How bout black? Too harsh. Beige? No thank you. Blue? Not the right shade. Cream? Oh that would look good on you, you try it instead. Sigh. She had reservations about neckline, sleeve length, fabric and fit, always tied to what other people might think. I got that. I was pushing her and felt bad. This was supposed to be fun. Finally we settled on a lovely caramel colored top that checked all the boxes. She came out of the dressing room looking fabulous. I jumped out of my chair and clapped. The gazelle of a young lady working there clapped too. Mom beamed. We snapped a few pictures, texted them to my sister and nieces and off we went for coffees. With the white blouse, carefully wrapped, also in the bag because there is always lipstick.
The day of the shoot came. We held a hair and makeup session in Mom's bedroom. Sereina sat on her bed entertaining the cat, checking traffic apps and chatting with us. I kneeled at Mom's chair concentrating on just the right amount to apply so it would show up in photos. We were all a little nervous. Mom put on a classic black dress and black patent pumps. The leather pants were in a bag for the change that would come later. All set, she looked downright regal. Like a Senator or a Secretary of State. We stood at the dresser choosing jewelry and noticed her lanyards hanging on the mirror. She's devoted much of her time as a mental health professional with TAPS, Give an Hour, Red Cross and the Cape Coral power squadron. We laughed that we should each wear one so we'd look official - like her handlers. So as Mom fastened her gold necklace around her neck, we threw lanyards around ours and grabbed one for my niece Alex who was meeting us there.
We drove down the GW Parkway, across the Potomac and up to the Lincoln and of course, nowhere to park. What's a trip into the city without a little stress? No matter, it's forgotten later and always worth it. And it would be. I circled back around, got as close as I could and stopped at a red light. I threw on my hazards and unlocked the doors. Mom and Sereina grabbed the bag of clothes and hopped out. The light changed green. But a lone lanyard lay in the seat next to me, having fallen out of the bag. I reached over, unrolled the window and tossed it out, shouting "come get this for Alex!" The car behind me honked impatiently. I hit the gas, glancing in the rearview to make sure they got it and began the search for parking.
I couldn't help but feel I was missing the big performance. Like the curtain was going up and I wasn't in place. I jogged the half mile as fast as I could and saw them at the highest step waving down at me. The Memorial is something to behold no matter how many times you've seen it. It grounds you. I stood at the bottom in reverence of what has transpired on those famous steps, in awe of Mr. Lincoln and his legacy, in awe my amazing Mom turning 80. Sometimes so much majesty makes you teary. I hustled up the steps to join them wishing I had brought tissues.
Sereina and Alex were assessing where to shoot. The day had been grey but the clouds were beginning to clear. Tourists milled about Abe's massive feet, reading the Gettysburg Address engraved on the walls, taking selfies, standing in reverence. Mom was quietly drawing attention in her black dress and heels. I piped up, "Madam Secretary did you read the file I gave you earlier?" Not missing a beat, she replied "Yes, hank you I'll get to that right before my flight tonight." Sereina joined in, a born actress, and pretty soon we were all full on pretending. People began whispering to each other. Mom played the part and we snapped away.
Giggling at ourselves, we hustled to the corner of the landing, the sun hitting perfectly there. Mom looked radiant, the marble column glowed. But we were losing daylight and it was time for a costume change. The bathroom seemed miles away down below. Mom said let's just call it a day girls no big deal. I thought of the fabulous leather pants and me and the gazelle clapping and knew we couldn't quit yet. I reached into the bag and pulled out the blanket. Mom didn't hesitate. We scooched off to the side of the building away from the tourists. Sereina and I held up the makeshift changing room. Mom popped off her shoes and stepped into the pants. The black dress sailed over the top of the blanket. We handed her the brown top and a hairbrush. Just as this was transpiring, a US Park Police officer rounded the corner, striding right toward us. I thought well here we go, this will surely make the evening news. "80 year old woman arrested at the Lincoln Memorial for indecent exposure, details at 11:00." Instead, the officer took a look at us, quietly turned on his heel and strode back in the direction he'd come from. I fanned myself with my Red Cross lanyard as Mom popped out from behind the blanket ready for her next scene.
The photos that followed would be our favorites. The nerves were gone. We were laughing at the narrow escape from the law and at ourselves for pulling this off. We knew we'd captured some great shots. Mom was having fun. Our mission was complete. As we huddled over my niece's phone looking at the pictures and began to put things back into the bag, I saw the officer marching towards us again. He had circled the building and was back. He was not smiling. My stomach flopped. His hand rested on something at his side that I couldn't make out. A radio for reinforcements? An arrest warrant? A gun? As he approached us, he nodded the tiniest of nods at Mom and walked right past us, not breaking his stride. We about collapsed.
Later, over an order of nachos and Corona Lights we rehashed our adventure. We missed my niece Lila who lives in California and would have loved every minute of this. We talked about first jobs, first apartments, first loves and the dreams we had when we first started out. We talked about our worries and the things that make us hopeful. I looked at my beautiful niece sitting across from me, working hard at her first big corporate job, no way of knowing what the future holds. So much ahead of her. I looked at my beautiful Mom sitting next to her, eighty years of a life well lived and, please Lord, many more to go. My beautiful sister sat next to me. Both of us in the middle of our lives. Full, real lives. Sometimes difficult, sometimes joyful, but always somehow intertwined. We sat there together under the string lights at a picnic table and I remembered how we promised each other years ago we'd raise our kids together here in this area. And we did, and now find ourselves in the heartbreaking season of gently letting them go. We hold on to each other and to our Mom, knowing that sometimes letting go is the hardest, most necessary part of loving someone.
