The Episode

Oh, where to begin?  There was this little episode of alarm which struck fear at my core when I thought my mother had -- perhaps -- fallen and couldn't get up . . . or worse, last week.  All because she didn't answer my calls within the space of an hour in the late morning AND there were no Facebook posts, comments or messages of any kind bearing her name in that same span of morning time.  The office staff for the apartment building offered me no assistance: a recording informed all callers that from Wednesday to the following Monday they were unavailable.  Though I thought my iPhone directory held phone numbers for a couple of mom's friends, nary a one could I find in my hasty name search.  I called the girls at work after texting an alert and prayer request to my sisters and brothers.  They rushed home to accompany me to mom's apartment, roughly a half hour from doorstep to doorstep.

By then, my wonder had bloomed into full-blown worry of the type I generally never experience where my self-sufficient mother is concerned.  (Though there WAS that one time two winters ago where I thought I killed her when I tipped her over in the walker as I pushed her up a handicap accessible ramp.  Let's not think about that.)  Yes, I've taken care of her after surgeries and ran shopping errands for her many a time, but the woman still feeds the birds, waters her plants, helps her neighbors and gets around pretty good, even with all of her aches and pains.  She manages her medical appointments and pays her bills on time.  Her potato salad and apple cake still do the belly just right in terms of comfort and flavor!  So, to find myself boo-hooing on the phone to my younger sister, in tears as I prepared for whatever I might find when I arrived at mom's place, was a strange coming-of-a-certain-age moment.

"Are you crying?" she asked me.  "Maybe a little.  Yes.  I am.  Something could have happened to her!" I hiccuped.  I realized my mother's mortality concerned me greatly.  I realized we really had yet to have a serious discussion on how all that would play out, though we did talk about advanced directives once and which grandkid would get her Starbucks mug collection in the event that she went to be with Jesus.  AND I realized I needed to get the names and numbers of her good friends programmed into my smart phone!

Lest I sound over reactive or absurdly panicky, I'll have you know I did realize she could have stepped out to assist someone in need and had no time for phone or computer.  But certain stars in my field of vision aligned and collided, creating an opening for the worry that us grown-up kids harbor about our aging parents.  Especially when they live alone and away from us.  Especially when they develop physical ailments which cause pain and limited mobility.  Especially when we begin to realize their frailty, their vulnerability, their dependence upon us despite the lives of independence they still lead.

So, anyway, long story short, the girls and I are in the Yukon, out on the road, maybe a mile from home.  The ol' iPhone rings.  It's my mother.  My display informed me of this before her voice confirmed it.  "Hello?  Gloria?  Rebekah said I should hurry up and call you because you were worried.  I'm okay."    My sister thought to call my mother's cell phone.  I hadn't.  Why?  Because I knew she hardly ever carried it or kept it on unless she came into town.  My knowledge of her had limited my ability to check every square inch of this unfolding little family drama.  Wow!  Turns out she wasn't feeling well in the morning, so she rested.  No computer.  Then, a security system guy needed office access.  Mom, the night/assistant manager of her building let him in and hung around while he did what needed doing.  That simple.  Which is usually the case.  But I've experienced the unusual.  And I love my ma.  Hence, 2+2 equals possible emergency.

The very next morning, mom posted on Facebook with a nod to all three sisters.  Alerting us to her well-being.  Thanking us for our love and concern.  Briefly outlining the previous day's confusion.  And her words prompted me to see how, as we humans age, we don't always think that our loved ones may panic if they don't hear from us.  Because we know we are all right, even if we don't announce it to the world.  We don't expect folks to sit around, worrying over whether we are safe or not, whether we're alive or injured or dead.  And then something like this happens and everyone realizes that the playing field has changed, the positions have reversed, and a time out is appropriate while a new game strategy is agreed upon.

This I can promise: I'll raise the roof again if I have to do it.  If Facebook or e-mail or cell phone or land line or friend can't assure me that my mom is alive and kicking, me and my trusty iron horse will RIDE!!!