Page 63

said. "I'm fine," she insisted and walked away quickly. Finally, one night I came downstairs and found

her sitting in the living room, gazing out the window.

She was in the rocker and she was moving herself

back and forth gently. I could see she was so deep in

thought, she didn't even realize I had entered the

room. I sat across from her and waited. Her eyes

moved very slowly until she saw me and then they

widened and brightened.

"How long have you been there?" she asked. "Just a few seconds," I said.

"I didn't hear you come in." She sighed. "Looks

like it might rain again. I think we're getting a leak in

the roof over the pantry. I'll have someone check it

tomorrow."

"Mother, there was a question that kept coming

up in my group therapy."

"What question?" she fired at me.

"A question I have had in my own mind for a

while now. I don't want you to get angry at me for

asking it, but it's important to me."

"I hate questions," she muttered. "Ever since

what happened happened, that's all the world's been

full of for us, questions."

"People have to have answers, Mother. I need

answers just like anyone."

"Answers can make for unnecessary trouble.

Sometimes it's best not to ask questions," she said. "No, Mother," I pursued. "It's never better to

bury your head in the sand."

"Is that what that doctor taught you?" "No. I taught it to myself. If I had asked some

questions and if you had . ."

"All right," she said. "All right. Let's get this