A Call From Mom

Who knew that Mother’s Day was such a great day to run errands?

She stood six persons back in line at the bookstore, musing idly as she waited for her turn with the cashier. She congratulated herself on getting so much done before noon on a Sunday. Now she could reward herself with a few new books and magazines. Surrounded by stands of Mother’s Day gift ideas and other cards and merchandise, she reminded herself that she was past all that now, with her mother gone. No more last-minute rush to find an appropriate gift, no more angst about whether Mom would like it, no more stabs in the heart when Mom made a negative comment.

She wasn’t GLAD her Mom had died last year. But it did make some things a little easier. And other things a LOT less painful.

The line was moving pretty slow. Because of all the extra time it takes now that they have a new rewards program, she thought, irritated. Maybe she should enroll. She usually ignored rewards programs, but this one was pretty good. She should probably sign up.

Finally, only one person in front of her. And of course, he was in the rewards program.

“Phone number? asked the cashier. “773… (of course) 357…”

Her ears pricked up. Wasn’t that the phone exchange for her old home town in Indiana?

“…5470.”

And all of a sudden, the bookstore was gone, the line was gone, and everything blurred. And the cashier said, “You called. FINALLY.”

Mom.

Yes, honey. Getting rid of me wasn’t as easy as you thought.

But.. you’re here.

Well, it’s my day isn’t it? Besides, you called me.

That wasn’t me. It was the guy in front of me. He had your old phone number.

Oh come on, dear. How likely is that? Your father and I had that number since the sixties. Don’t say you don’t remember. I know no one remembers phone numbers anymore, with all the new phones and gadgets, but you always had that one memorized.

Yes…but I didn’t call.

Of course you did. Why else would I be here?

But that’s just it. You’re not here. You’re dead.

Oh, such a final word. Dead. I prefer “gone.” And we’re not really that far away, you know. We can still get through if we have to. And I had to. You were much too pleased with

yourself.

No Mom, that’s not true. But it’s true that life is easier now.

See? I knew it. You put me in that place, and went on with your life, and you never called.

I did, Mom. Over and over. But you could never hear me, and as you got more and more confused, you seemed to forget how to even use a phone.

Oh phooey. You know that isn’t true. My hearing was never that bad, and I stayed sharp to the end. Which was a miracle, with all those crazy drugs you let them give me.

We talked about this so many times, Mom. You said you didn’t want to come live with me. You said all you wanted was to stay in your house until you died. But you couldn’t walk any more. It just wasn’t possible.

All I ever wanted was to go home. And you wouldn’t let me. You never wanted me to be happy.

It was all I ever wanted, Mom. But I want to be happy too. I know now I could never have made you happy. Too big a job for one person. But I could make sure you were taken care of.

Oh, don’t worry, honey. I forgive you. I’m past all that. And I’m glad you have all the money now. I’ve forgiven you for that too.

I had no choice, Mom. I had to take care of you. People tell me to forgive you and remember you did the best you could with what you had. If you’d known more you’d have done more. Well, that goes for me too. I did the best I could with what I had.

There you go again, honey. All those words of yours. I just wanted you to know I forgive you, but I’m still here. Don’t go forgetting me again.

No problems there, Mom. I won’t forget this day for a while.

“Next?

“Oh, excuse me. I had a moment there.”

“Are you in our Rewards Program?”

“No.”

“Would you like to be?”

“Sure.”

“Phone number?”

“Uh…on second thought, no. Not today, anyway.”

Thank God Mom had never learned to email.