Her Own Bedroom Elizabeth S. Tieri
"She went directly from sharing a room with her sister as a child to sharing a room with her husband as a mother."
I am my mother's baby, twofold. Not only
I once asked if she ever wished she'd
because I grew inside her, but because I
married someone other than my father.
was the last to grow inside her, the last
"No," she told little me. (I'm sure this part
of six. My mother was 36 when I was
of her answer was never true, based on
born, 35 the winter she found out she
what I know of romance and also what
was carrying me in that already big belly
I've heard her say since.) But I've always
of hers. I'm 35 this year, and childfree. In
admired the second part of her
my father's obituary, which I've been
response. "Because," she said, "with
drafting for weeks, my name will be the
any other husband, I wouldn't have
only among his children with nothing
gotten you for my baby."
listed afterward, "...and Elizabeth." Period.
As the baby, I was allowed to sleep in their bed much longer than the average
My father is dying. This is something
child, not only because there were no
anyone who's known me for more than a
younger siblings to take my place and
day has heard me mention. My father is
kick me out, but also because my father
one of those depression-era babies who
worked nights, and my mother prefers
never ate a vegetable that didn't come
not to sleep alone. I, incidentally, prefer
out of a can. He was already a sick, old
not to as well.
man when I was born. Yet he spent the last two decades of his life defying the
For much of my childhood, I shared a
doctors' decrees, keeping hard at work.
full-sized bed with two sisters. But some of my earliest memories are of faking
But this is not a story about my father.
sleep on the couch until Pop left for
This is a story about my mother.
work. When the coast was clear I'd climb
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MASKS
• SPRING
2021
