“MISSING MOTHER” by Duane L Herrmann

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1 

   “What do you mean, ‘She’s buried?’ She only died yesterday!” Kanitha stared at her older brother in disbelief.

   “Just what I said in the email,” Helmut replied. “I’ve taken care of it. You don’t have to be concerned with it, you can plan the memorial service.”

   “But, but…” she sputtered.

   “Long ago we agreed we weren’t going to have a church funeral for her. None of us could bear to have some preacher, who didn’t know what she’s done, talk about what a good Christian woman she was.”

   “Well…  That’s true,” she had to admit.

   “So, it’s not a problem.”

   “What if people from her church want to come?”

   “Let them. I don’t care who comes. Funerals are usually public events anyway; that’s why they’re announced.”

   “Oh.” Kanitha replied. “I never thought of that.”

   “Besides,” Helmut continued. “I want people to come. I want everyone to be able to speak. I want to hear if anyone knows of any action on her part that she made simply as a gesture of giving, not calculated for some advantage to herself.”

   “I’ve always wondered about that.” Kanitha was thoughtful.

   Helmut remembered back to the morning before. It seemed like days ago now. The call had wakened him from sleep. He had groggily answered the phone, not in a very good mood. His heart sank when he heard his mother’s voice. What did she want him to do now? And, couldn’t it wait till morning?

   “Helak…” His mother gasped, nearly incoherent. “Pain…  can’t breathe…  I…” A strangling sound ended the connection.

   He was instantly awake and jumped to his feet. Something was wrong and, despite the cruel and painful things she’d done to him, he still responded. He pulled clothes on and rushed to her place.  She didn’t answer the door when he knocked, so he used his key and went in. He found her in bed gasping for shallow breaths.

   “Mom, I…”

   “I knew you’d come…” She reached out a hand and he took it. “I want you to take my dark blue dress to the cleaners and empty the pan on the stove…”  She gasped for breath again and continued with a fainter voice. “Don’t let that neighbor of mine talk you into anything. I’m going to sue him for slander. He…” She gasped again then lay still.

   “Mom?” He shook her hand. “MOM?” He couldn’t see her chest moving. He let go of her hand and it dropt lifelessly to her side. “Mom…?” he said in a softer voice filled with confusion. Was she really dead? Finally? Was he finally free?

   After decades, his entire life, of screaming and torture, was it finally over? He stared at her for a few moments, still wondering if it might be true. “Mom…” he stated flatly and gently shook her. She did not respond.

   Slowly he reached for the phone she had just used. He didn’t really want to touch it, but he dialed 911.

   “Is this an emergency?” The voice asked.

   “I suppose… I don’t know.”

   “What happened?”

   “My mother just died. She called me and I came over. She’s not responding.”

   “Are you in danger?”

   “No.” As Helmut said this, he began to feel a sense of relief. He was not in danger, not anymore. If she was dead, and she certainly seemed to be, then she couldn’t hurt him anymore. As that thought sank in, he visibly relaxed. “No, I’m not,” he repeated with certainty and surprise.

   “What is the address and I’ll send an ambulance.”

   “But, she’s dead. What good will an ambulance do?”

   “We always send an ambulance and the police.”

   “Is it required?”

   “That’s the procedure. The police have to verify there was no foul play.”

   “All right, then. I’ll wait.” Helmut gave the address, then broke the connection and looked at his mother.  She had not moved. She was wearing a flimsy nightgown and the sheet was half off. He went to her closet and found a dark blue dress. He took it out to his car.

2

   The police and ambulance duly arrived. The police verified there was no struggle, no sigh of violence, then Helmut followed the ambulance to the funeral home. It took some time to explain that he merely needed a coffin and would transport her to the cemetery himself in the back of his SUV.  The staff was reluctant to let that happen, but he persisted and they finally gave in.

   “She doesn’t need to be embalmed, I’m going to bury her today. You can clean her up, put the dress on her and take care of the death certificate. I’ll be back in a couple hours to take her to the cemetery.”

   “You’ll need a casket.”

   “Can I pick it out now? I want one that’s wood, and cheap.”

   “Oh?”

   “She squandered a quarter million dollars after Daddy died. She spent the money, or lost it. We don’t know. We never saw any of it; I had to go in debt to go to school. He didn’t want that. She’s had her money.”

   “We have wooden ones in the storeroom down here,” he was told.

   “That will be fine.”

   The man led the way to a room across the hall. There were caskets, stacked on top of each other in rows.

   “The wood ones?” Helmut asked and the man pointed to the back corner. “What kind of wood?”

   “The top one is walnut, the next is oak, the bottom is pine.”

   “I’ll take the walnut. It’s less work for you.”

   “It’s no problem.”

   “She doesn’t care. I’ll take it.”

   “As you wish.”

   “And you don’t need to add any fancy liner, any at all. And no pillow. She’s not going to feel a thing. Just the box. That’s all I want.”

   The man looked startled, but nodded agreement.

   “And, can you be done in two hours? I’ve got a long drive.”

   “That will be plenty of time. The coroner’s office will need to be contacted, but that shouldn’t take long in this case. Do you want us to make arrangements with the cemetery?”

   “I can do that. I have the information. Besides, the more you do, the more you can charge.”

   “We don’t usually put it that way,” the man couldn’t resist a chuckle. “But that’s about right. May I ask which cemetery you will use?”

   Helmut named a cemetery in a distant part of the state.

   “Oh.” The man said in surprise. “That is a ways.”

   “Her mother is buried there and the plot beside her is empty. The two deserve each other.”

   “I see. Yes. Well, she can be ready in two hours. You have a vehicle that can accommodate the casket?”

   “My SUV.”

   “We’ll see you shortly then,” the man nodded.

   “Thanks.”

3

   Three hours later, Helmut was on the road with his mother in her casket in the back. It filled the space so much he had had to pull his seat forward more than was really comfortable, but she had never concerned herself with his comfort, he had learned not to either, he didn’t even notice. The grave would be opened by the time he got there and she would be buried by nightfall. He was satisfied. This long chapter of his life would be over.

   “Alright, Mom.” He began. “You’ve had your way – till today. I’ve waited for this day for a long, long time. Your screaming convinced me that I was irreparably defective simply because I wet my pants. I was a little boy, for God’s sake! Little boy’s wet their pants! I was barely two and already knew I’d ruined your life. The world was perfect, it was just me that was defective. I knew you would only be happy if I did not exist. I was two and suicidal, but had no idea how to get rid of myself.  Later, I figured it out.

   “But, I HAD ruined your life. I recognize that now. You grew up as the princess and when you became pregnant – you really WERE the princess!  The princess of two families – your own and Dad’s. The baby would be the first for both sides of the family.  

   “Are you comfortable? Can I get you anything? I can just hear them saying – and you ate it up!  This was the way life was supposed to be! You didn’t need to do any work, you could simply sit and lay around all day. You had nine months of vacation from life!

   “You eventually became uncomfortable, and every later pregnancy – you were uncomfortable at the end. I know that was true, but you didn’t have to scream so much about it. I couldn’t fix anything!

   “Then, when I was born, all the attention switched from you – to the baby: me! The first child of a new generation for both sides of the family. You resented the loss of that attention and, to make it  worse, everyone expected you to take care of the baby – but who was going to take care of you?

   “I soon found out!”

   “You don’t know that I wanted to stab you with the butcher knife when I was little, did you?  I was maybe five. Nothing I did, none of my efforts, would stop your screaming. You didn’t care about the screaming. You had no idea how much it hurt. I didn’t need to do your work. I shouldn’t have done your work. I didn’t need to give Kanitha her bottle. I was only two, for God’s sake! And I certainly didn’t need to fasten your bra when I was three. Seeing all the bare skin of your back was repulsive. I objected, but you demanded. Kanitha was able to feed herself by then and she looked down at me from her highchair, wondering what I was upset about. And then, you insisted I fasten your bra for the next fifteen years, until I left home! That was repulsive and disgusting! Nearly incestuous!

   “I wondered why women wore clothes they couldn’t put on by themselves. You made sure I dressed myself, even before I could really do it. Long pants were such a struggle. I kept stepping on the legs as I was trying to pull them on. And there was NO reason I should have had to change Marcin or Maysun’s diapers. I was only six, for God’s sake!!

“And I don’t appreciate being forced to swallow my vomit. I didn’t want to eat that food, but I had no choice. That was beyond reason, nor the concussion. No, I didn’t want to spend all day washing dishes. What little boy does? You didn’t need to hit me over the head with the platter, though. Then you giggled because my head was so hard it cracked it. It wasn’t funny. I had to hold on to the sink to stay up. The concussion was a crime, a felony, but there were no witnesses.  There never were any witnesses! You made sure of that.

“And all the cooking! Hours and hours in that hot kitchen, over that hot stove. And the knob for the burners were behind the burners.  I had to jump out of the way quickly every time I had to turn a burner on. The flames would burn me! Turning the burners off was difficult, but at least I could see the flames before I had to turn the knob, and I could reach sideways behind the flames. I never understood then, why the knobs were in such a dangerous place?  I later wondered if their location was considered a safety feature, so children wouldn’t turn them on by accident.  Making it my job was opposite to what I’m sure the designers had expected.

“I don’t cook any of that food anymore. I can’t stand to cook. There’s only two things about food that you really taught me: don’t burn it and keep it down. People wonder why I don’t enjoy what I eat. That’s why. The taste of food is not important – you made sure I learned that! It all tastes better than vomit, anyway. And, that’s the bottom line.”

Helmut became so engrossed in his memories that he barely noticed the highway or traffic. It was all familiar here anyway. This was the first time he could tell his mother these things. He’d had to repress so much for so long.

“If you had apologized just once, just once! If you had ever said you were sorry, I would have died with love for you. I did love you. Or, if you had ever said, ‘Thank you,’ I would have felt like you cared. You only wanted me to work.

“When I was little, I adored you. But, your screaming pushed me away. The other things just confirmed my need to get away from you – as often as possible. That’s why I ran away to Aunt Derika. I had to get away. You always knew where to find me though. The field between our houses wasn’t that big. And then you’d have me bring back milk or eggs. The milk was heaviest, and there were no handles on those big glass jars. The egg buckets had handles, they were easier, but still awkward to carry. They weren’t made for children to carry, but you didn’t care.”

His mind shifted between memories over the years.

“And, I never understood why I could keep house better than you. That summer I was thirteen. You and Aunt Derika went off to take that summer class. The house was quiet. Oh, my. It was SO amazingly quiet! I cleaned the house and it stayed clean. You weren’t home to make a mess. And, I and had meals ready on time for Daddy and the boys.  

“And the twins never bickered all that summer while you were gone. You would have been amazed. Neither Daddy nor I would put up with it. The boys had to work things out between themselves – I knew they could, and they did. You always declared a winner, which meant there was a loser – and no one wants to be a loser, so that set the seeds for the next argument.  

“I remember the first time they expected me to declare a winner – and I wouldn’t. They were befuddled. Then they went to Dad, and he was pissed. A piece of machinery had broken and he needed to be out working in the field, then those two brought their petty problem to him. He was furious! I knew he would be.

“The boys were bewildered. They didn’t know what to do without a winner or loser. They were still upset over whatever it was, and played separately, but I knew that wouldn’t last. In just a few minutes they were playing together. I knew they would. Neither one of them wanted to play alone. I didn’t want to play alone either, but there was no one else to play with me except you – and you couldn’t bother. I’ll bet you never thought I’d remember that, did you? You told me to go away so you could read the newspaper. I wanted to be as important to you as the newspaper. I don’t think I ever was. That’s why I wanted to write stories; so I could be important to you. But, that didn’t work either. I must have meant nothing to you. Damn you!”

The miles flew by. Helmut was not conscious of time.

“Why was I a better parent at 13 than you were at 30? I never understood that. It was like you could never grow up. You always had to be the center of attention, just like a little kid. You had to be talking about yourself all the time, or about something you wanted. You were never satisfied with what you had – you always wanted more! You never wanted to hear what anyone else had to say, not even your kids. You couldn’t be bothered to listen to us.

“You even ordered me not to talk to you. I was so little, Kanitha wasn’t talking yet. Who else was there to talk to? It was just me, but I was too much. There was no one else to talk to. You told me to talk to you only if I had something important to say. I knew you meant: important to you. But, I had no idea what that might be. And, if I couldn’t trust you with normal things, how could I trust you with something important. So I just didn’t talk. I’m still not comfortable with social chit-chat. I don’t see the point. I don’t know if you even noticed.

“That’s why I left all those little notes in places where you would see them. I wasn’t allowed to talk, but I did need to communicate. You thought they were silly. No. They were desperate. Well, I won’t have to listen to you anymore. Except, you’re always screaming in my head. That’s never stopped. I hope some day it will, but maybe it won’t. That’s why its called Post Traumatic Stress.  It’s over, but it never stops.

“All those nasty names you called me: Asinine, Fool, Stupid, Bump on a Log. And criticizing every little thing about me: the way I walked, the way I shut my lips, or swallowed, and of course, none of the work I did was done the in the peculiar way you wanted. But sleeping! I couldn’t even sleep in a way acceptable to you!!” He pounded the steering wheel in frustration. Then looked around.

The highways were unfamiliar now. Helmut had to consult his map when there was a junction. No one had gone to visit his grandmother’s grave.

“I didn’t cremate you. I don’t know if you were serious or not about that, but I don’t believe it would be good for you. Your body is your last reference point. It came together gradually, it should decompose gradually. If we were supposed to burn, we would be combustible. But, we’re not. So, you’re going to be buried and decompose.

“And,” now he got to the point of the trip. “I’m not burying you next to Daddy. I’ve been able to visit his grave in peace for the past fifty years, I’m not going to let you disturb that now. If anyone wants to put flowers on your grave – they can come here. Besides, you and Granma deserve each other. I don’t know how the two of you could stand each other, but you did, so now you two can be together again. I don’t want to have to think about you unless I absolutely have to. And, I hope I don’t have to.

“If the others are upset,” he thought of his siblings. “I’m sorry. But, they never went out of their way to do anything for you. I never had that choice. If they miss you – good for them. They can dig you up and bring you back – but what would be the point? You’ve ruined my life enough. I want to live some time without you anywhere around. I don’t what to even think about you anymore.”

Helmut pulled into the cemetery in the late afternoon. The crew was still there, finishing preparations for the grave. He watched and waited till they finished. Together they lowered the coffin and shut the grave. He watched as the dirt was filled in. When it was done, he thanked them, gave each some money then headed to a motel for the night. It had been a very full day. He would face his brothers and sisters later. Just before he went to sleep he sent an email to them: “Mom died this morning. Buried now. Everything taken care of except cleaning out her place. Plan memorial.”

As he fell asleep, Helmut chuckled thinking how he could answer the question: Do you miss your mother? “Yes. Like I’d miss an explosion in my face… again…and again… and again… and again.”

“Who’s the stupid one now?” He mused.

Copyright © 2024 Duane L. Herrmann. All Rights Reserved.

Duane L. Herrmann

With degrees in Education and History, Duane L. Herrmann has work published in print and online, in fifty-plus anthologies, over one hundred other publications (Gonzo Press, Tiny Seed Literary Journal, Page and Spine, etc), plus a sci fi novel, eight collections of poetry, a local history, stories for children, a book on fasting and other works, despite an abusive childhood with dyslexia, ADHD, cyclothymia, an anxiety disorder, a form of Mutism, and now, PTSD.  

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