Sweet Lies

As a child, lying to one's mother was such a grievous offense that it merited the worst of punishments.  I learned the ethic so well that as a rule I don't lie, but I lied today, and worst of all I lied to my mother.  Even though the little "guilty" bells went off in my head, my heart knew it was a small series of sweet lies that simply averted the grief the truth would have brought to her.

Today Mother was sitting and watching MTV, and while we watched some program about teenage mothers, she ate her orange and talked about the people from her past.  She said she had had a visit from her cousins, Glen and Lyle, and that they had had such a good time.  I asked some questions and acted like I was pleased that they had come to visit her.  Lyle died in WWII and Glen died several years ago.  I didn't tell her they were dead - essentially a lie.  She was so excited by having had a visit with them.  Perhaps she did - I would not like Scrooge try to deny the presence of any Christmas spirit - but the rest of the details of the visit were mixed up in accounts of the Vietnam War and wives and children they never had.  But she was happy.

She asked about my father - dead many years.  She wanted to know how he was doing and what he looked like now.  I lied again.  I named the town where he "lives" - rather where he is buried, and I made up the rest.  She was pleased.  So many times we've told her that he is dead.  It just makes her cry and mourn all over again, so today I lied.

She asked about other friends and family so long gone.  But I lied and we talked about them as if they were still here.  And what I've learned is that they are still here in her mind.  They live and breathe and have new adventures and can have lives that she makes for them  It brings her great joy, and so I will continue the sweet lies told out of love.