It’s All About Love

Starsky has been to visit his mother.

A birthday story for my friend, Deb, dedicated to our moms.

His plane was late. I did my usual worried pacing; knowing full well the late plane was not what I was pacing about. Starsky’s visits to his mom hurt. Sure they were happy times for him, she was still his mom. But, he wasn’t always still her son. And that’s what hurt the most. When Rachel forgot who Starsky was.

I was standing in front of one of the huge windows that look out over the runways when Starsky finally disembarked. I watched him in the glass, wanting to know his mood, how the trip went, if he was all right. Our eyes met in our reflections, and I watched the weariness drift away from Starsky’s face, replaced by happiness, and more than a little relief, and a whole lot of need.

There are times in our relationship when I say to myself: screw it, I don’t care who sees, what strangers might have to say. This was one of those times. I pulled him close, asking if he were okay, telling him I was glad he was home. Telling him I loved him. Something clouded his features, and there were tears in his eyes. I was scared something more, something worse had happened, and Starsky picked up on it. He told me Rachel was fine, a bit downhill from the last visit, but fine. Asked me to take him home.

The ride was quiet. Starsky was lost in his own thoughts for most of it. A word here and there about the old neighborhood, the cousins who took turns caring for his mom. And the latest relatives Rachel confused her elder son with. Sometimes he was Nick, sometimes his dad, sometimes his grandfather. He was silent for a bit, and then he drifted to safer subjects. I heard all about the stewardess who took a liking to him, and all about the little kid across the aisle who had to pee a record-breaking number of times. The food was awful, the blue of the sky remarkably like my eyes. By the time we made it into the house, Starsky seemed okay. At least until he dropped his bags in a heap in the center of the living room.

“Starsk? Want to tell me about it?”

“All morning, Hutch, all morning I was ma’s brother Dan. I gave up on correcting her; she just got mad and didn’t believe me. Even worse, I could feel me getting mad at her.”

Starsky rubbed his foot over some spot in the carpet, and I wondered if he were trying to rub away some of the hurt. The spot has been there since we bought the place, never could get it out. I suspect Starsky’s hurt will always be there, too. I just don’t want him to feel it like he does now. Let it become a memory, soft and faded, but there because he loves his mom. When Starsky looked away from that spot and at me, there were tears on his face. I waited, I knew he would tell me.

“I was telling her good-bye. I wanted so much for her to know it was me, Hutch. She didn’t. I was still Dan. I just couldn’t try anymore; I wanted to get away. All I could do was hug her. Hutch? When I did, she said ‘I love you, Davey’.”

Starsky was crying openly now. I gathered him close and held on tight. He whispered against my neck, repeating over and over that Rachel had told him she loved him. Called him by name. How he held her and told his mother how much he loved her, too.

“Hutch, she called out the door when I got to the cab. Called me Dan, and told me to hurry back.”

His whisper was just about down to nothing and I had to struggle to hear that last bit about how Rachel called him Dan again. He hated that that had happened, wished his mom had just stayed in the house, let him leave hearing in his heart her voice calling him Davey.

He pulled away from me, his eyes searching my face, looking for something he needed from me. Reassurance…comfort…hope.

“Babe? When you held your mom and she knew who you were, it’s the greatest proof of her love for you she could ever offer. It’s the power of…of your touch, the strength of your love. Think about it, Starsk. Holding you, holding her son and knowing you from your touch. Hang on to that, never forget it. Rachel won’t forget, someplace deep inside, she’ll always know you. She’ll always love you.”

I took Starsky in my arms then. Held him tight, kissed him, told him how much I loved him. And when he pulled away from me and searched my face again, I told him I would never forget. Never forget the feel of his arms around me. I would always love him and always remember. And always know who he was.