A few weeks later, I invited Lucas over for dinner.
Daniel was working late, so I prepared the meal myself.
I wasn't particularly good at cooking.
Lucas knew that.
He had been teasing me about it since I was a teenager.
When he arrived, he looked at the kitchen counter.
"Should I be worried?"
I laughed.
"You're welcome to leave."
He raised both hands.
"I'm staying. I brought emergency supplies."
He placed a bag of groceries on the counter.
We prepared dinner together.
While chopping vegetables, I asked him about his life before he met my mother.
He looked surprised.
"Why do you want to know?"
"Because I know so much about you from Mom's stories, but I never really asked about your life."
He smiled.
"That's a fair question."
He told me that he had served in the Army for years.
He had met many people.
Some had become friends.
Others had simply been people he worked beside.
But Rachel had been different.
He said she had a way of making people feel included.
She didn't care about someone's rank when they needed help.
She cared about whether they were okay.
I smiled.
"That sounds exactly like her."
Lucas nodded.
"It was."
He told me that their friendship had grown naturally.
They worked together.
They shared difficult days.
They laughed whenever they could find something worth laughing about.
And eventually, they began looking out for each other.
Then I asked about the injury.
Lucas became quiet.
He explained that there had been a moment when he was seriously hurt and needed medical attention.
My mother had been there.
She had helped him.
He didn't go into unnecessary detail.
He simply said that he remembered her voice and the way she stayed focused when everything around them felt uncertain.
"I wouldn't be sitting here if she hadn't helped me."
I looked at him.
"She never told me that."
He shrugged.
"She didn't want you worrying about things you couldn't control."
I understood.
That was exactly the kind of mother she had been.
Lucas continued preparing dinner.
Then he smiled.
"She was stubborn, you know."
I laughed.
"Trust me. I know."
He told me about their arguments over small things.
Sometimes she would insist he was wrong.
Sometimes he would insist she was wrong.
And sometimes they would both refuse to admit that the other person had a point.
I laughed so hard that I nearly dropped the spoon.
For the first time, I was hearing my mother described as someone's close friend rather than only as my mother.
It gave me a different picture of her.
She had been a person with her own friendships, jokes, worries, and memories.
I liked hearing about that part of her life.
After dinner, Daniel came home.
He joined us at the table.
Lucas told him another story about my mother's stubbornness.
Daniel laughed.
"I think I would have gotten along with her."
Lucas nodded.
"She would have liked you."
I looked at him.
"How can you be so sure?"
He smiled.
"Because she always wanted you to be happy. And you are."
That answer made me quiet.
After Lucas left, Daniel helped me clear the dishes.
He noticed I was still thinking.
"Are you okay?"
I nodded.
"I just wish I had more time with her."
He hugged me.
"I know."
I looked toward the photograph on the shelf.
For years, I had known my mother through the memories we shared.
Now I was slowly discovering her through the memories other people carried.
And every story made her feel a little closer.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: I Started Collecting the Little Stories About My Mother Because I Was Afraid One Day the Details Might Disappear
My Mother Made One Promise Before Leaving for Iraq, and I Held on to It Long After She Was Gone
Part 10 of 20
