Mornings with Mom

 Every morning, usually sometime between, oh say 8.30 and 11, I call my mother.  Sometimes it is later in the day because she might have a doctor's appointment, or was sleeping late, but the point being, I call her everyday, 95 percent of the time in the morning.  In fact, if I haven't called by 11, she will frequently call me to make sure I'm doing ok.

My dad was diagnosed with cancer in January 2008.  Even though he and mom, and M and I lived in the same town, Pocahontas, Arkansas, I would check on dad every morning, and if could not talk, mom would fill me in.  I'm ashamed to say I did not get by to see him every day, but most days I did, so there was constant communication.

After dad died in October 2009, my calls continued.  Back then I had two jobs.  I would work at the radio station from 5.30 until 8 and then go to the newspaper soon thereafter.  Usually on the drive home from KPOC, I would call Mom, see how the night went and chat about the upcoming day.  Nothing really important, just trying to be a good son and checking in.

But over the years, the calls have continued, as have the frequency and the seriousness of the calls.  Both mom and my step-father Tom have health issues.  Mom has several issues which have affected her quality of life.  I think I have mentioned in this space previously, in the past 12-18 months, she has fallen numerous times.  She has had Covid, broken her pelvis, broken her hip, broken her nose, been diagnosed with breast cancer, pneumonia, spent three days in a medically induced coma, and made numerous trips to the ER at St. Luke's Hospital in St. Louis.  Tom has dementia, and while it appears to be a slow decline, there are some days that are not as good as others.

She and Tom are both 88 and will be 89 this fall.  When I call now, I'm not only checking in on how mom is doing, but she fills me in on Tom's day and mood as well.

But in the last year or so, the calls have changed in another way.  Many of my mom's friends, Kay, Mona, Beverly, Barb have died, and that has affected her greatly.  Women she talked to with great regularity, women she also had long history of friendship with.  Since she has lost those connections, many days, I am the new substitute.  My mother likes to talk.  She likes to talk a lot, and that is fine.  I listen, which I believe is something I do well.  In some ways, I have added the title of trusted friend to my relationship with mom besides son.   Again, not complaining at all, just amazing over time how the dynamics have changed.

For example, I think it was Saturday morning, we talked for over an hour.  The subjects were wide and varied.  They included, my grandkids, my brother and his granddaughter, Italy, and the life she and dad had in Torino.  The nutritional value of peanut butter, which led directly to wondering how many folks put peanut butter on their waffles.  (Seriously, we discussed that).  We talked at length about assisted living facilities, and the pros and cons of places she and Tom have looked at.  Apricots, Cardinal baseball, what time they were coming on television, we talked about her and Tom's health issues, and her hoping Tom would feel like going to church on Sunday.  We even talked about Barry Goldwater.

I know my mother looks forward to these calls, these once or twice, sometimes three times a day calls.  I know they are an oasis to her.  She has told me that and I know she has told others, because they have relayed that information to me.

I enjoy the daily interaction for several reasons.  Probably the primary reason is my mother is 88, her health is not terminal, but it's not great either.  I forgot to mention her heart earlier.  That's another concern.  I don't know how long she will be here on this Earth, for that matter, that goes for me as well.  I do know this, when the time comes, if she should pass before I do, and she desires that, I know every morning I'll be looking at the phone wanting to call.  Just like so often needing to talk to my dad who has been gone 16 years.

I am blessed beyond words to have a good relationship with my mother.  I am blessed I had a good relationship with my dad.  

I rarely get on my soapbox, but I will now.  If she is still alive, call your mother, talk to her, listen to her words.  Talk to your father.  If things are messed up, take the step to make them right. It is not a chore to talk to our parents, it is a privilege.  Someday, maybe someday soon, maybe years down the road, there will be no one on the other end, and you will wish there was.

Be kind to each other.  Love all of you.