The Little Green Bucket

If you went into my house growing up you would notice most things matched or had their place. My Mother was very OCD before I even knew what OCD was. When she went out the door she matched from head to toe. Her house was a collection of her moods, but each room needed to match from carpet to walls. Her sitting room was bright colored with pictures that reminded you of the Caribbean and a couch that wouldn't have looked out of place there. The dining room was greens and browns that brought back memories of steam voyages to Ireland. From top to bottom my Mom had that house just the way she wanted. It was so her style that it was hard to sell when they wanted a smaller place. The one thing that often didn't match aesthetically to where it was kept was the little green bucket. My parents moved to a retirement community about five years ago. Right around the same time we were having our triplet daughters. I was so engrossed with going back and forth to the NICU and feeding and changing my girls when they came home after a month, that I never really got to say goodbye to the house I grew up in. In all honesty there were few things I would miss. None of it was mine or really had any attachment to. Better yet, I wasn't attached to anything there besides my parents. I don't know if that says anything about my childhood or not, but it will probably come up in some therapy session down the road. When my parents moved into their new home, my Mom could not wait to show it off to me. It was way too big right off the bat. It has three bedrooms, three bathrooms and a loft and a sitting room to go along with the big open kitchen to living room. It was bigger than the house we grew up in! As she walked me around I noticed THE little green bucket had made it through the move to the new house. It was in the master bathroom in plain sight just in case. The bucket itself was the ugliest color green. It looked like what it usually was getting used for. I noticed that at some point it picked up a sticker from dentist's office. Probably from my nephews or nieces when they stayed in the old house. The funny thing about the bucket is it wasn't deep enough for the purpose it served. If you really had to get sick it would splash right back at you and it would always hit your hands. Even knowing that was probably going to happen that bucket always gave me a good feeling. I knew I was safe and taken care of when my Mother would bring it into my room. She would be there to hold it for me and pat my back when I was suffering with whatever flu I had picked up at School that week. As I would go to sleep it would be the last thing I saw as the lights went out. It made you feel secure that it was close just in case. I always knew where it was. Even as I returned from college and my girlfriend, now wife, spent the night, I knew where to run to when the bartender poured her Apple-Tinis too strong. Yesterday was the first time I had to be there for my Mom when she was sick. Her Cancer has run it's course and her body is starting to give up. She can't eat solid foods any longer and has trouble drinking enough to keep her strong. People were in and out all yesterday coming to see my Mom, as they now time is running short. I stayed as long as I could and was there after most people had left. I noticed my Mom had some acid reflux and was burping so I quickly grabbed the little green bucket that was nearby just in case. I held it under her chin as she tried to grasp it with her hands that just won't do what her brain is telling them to do. As she got sick I patted her lightly on the back and stroked her white hair. I tried to make her feel as safe and loved as she made me feel all those years. She was scared and cried and I was scared and cried too.