Mother's Day

My mom fell and cut her head open at the nursing home last week. The person in charge of that stuff called me and left a message on my phone at work. She wanted me to call her back. The only problem was, when she said the number, she garbled the last two digits in the phone number, making a return call impossible.

When I got to work this morning, she had left another message. That made me happy, I thought I’d be able to call her back! But she garbled the same two digits of the number and I still was unable to call back.

The guilt factor concerning my mother is very high and rising every moment. I haven’t been to see her since before I got this bad cold on Tuesday the 10th of April – it’s now the 25th. Being sick has drained me real bad -- and I really wouldn’t want her to catch it. Add to that fact, that my boss at work has left for a great new job and my work future is uncertain. Not to mention that the doctor wants to have me checked for uterine cancer. Oh, and did I mention menopause?

Crummy things seem to be piling up. And it feels more like piling on. Some days I don’t know if I can go on -- the foot, the throat, the female organs, the hormones, the mom, the boss, the job (not to mention the things I’m not mentioning!) -- but what choice do I have?

My youngest son turned 5 years old yesterday. That was big. He was so excited. He bounced around the room just like Tigger from the Pooh books. And even though we kept it simple, he was elated. That kid is some kind of blessing. He’s such a bright beacon. He warms the cockles of my heart (whatever those are).

I was 43 when he was born. It didn’t seem to be such a feat at the time, but now as he grows I’m learning that physically I am just not up to the task sometimes. I hope I don’t leave him before he grows up. But who has that choice anyway? We do what we can to try to stay healthy, and we fail miserably. Then we try again, and we fail again. The most we can hope for is a net success as time goes by.

My oldest son turns 18 on Saturday. He is so beautiful. He is awesome -- in every sense of the word. He brings me great joy and also great fear. I so want his life to be better than mine. Not due to material possessions, but due to better choices. I hope I have given him some good tools for his earthly toolbox to help him build, and as needed, repair his life.

Like I said, my mom fell and cracked her head open at the nursing home. It took 13 staples to put her back together. The fact that I haven’t been to see her for two weeks is starting to dangle over my neck like a guillotine. She’s my mother after all. I’m sure they think I’m indifferent to the whole thing since I haven’t called them back. I wish they knew that I only have the area code and the first 5 digits of the phone number.

Visiting my mother is somewhat like mounting the executioner’s block. It’s a very solemn affair -- she’s the one with the axe and hood. I am the one who will soon be fragmented, fractured, and succumb. So with each day I fail to visit her, the blade rises, and the anxiety grows – I both detest and desire an audience with her. It’s really quite sick -- there are not enough staples to fix what's broken in me -- but it is non-negotiable, she’s my mother.

Maybe the number is in the book.