Waiting for the phone to ring

I didn't sleep well last night. I keep waiting for that phone call that I know is coming. Saturday I jumped on a flight from LAX to Washington. It was my ninth day in Los Angeles. Most of the time was spent walking the corridors of hospitals. On Thursday my brother in law Jim, and my son Trevor, were with me as we made funeral arrangements for my mom. Later that same day my sisters and brothers and I decided on the best hospice site for my mom. I felt like I had done all that I could and it was time to come home. Now we all wait for the inevitable.

It all started with four words.

"You have to come."

My sister Mary Jo said those words. I knew at some point I would hear them. I felt like I was prepared. But of course I wasn't. It didn't take long to find a flight, and I was in the air just before nine pm east coast time on March 13Th. I landed in Los Angeles around midnight. I had been up more than 24 hours by the time I finally got to the hospital to visit my mother. Her heart rate was all over the place. She didn't look good. On Friday she was surrounded by her kids as the E.R. doctor examined her.

His hands squeezed here and there. He asked.

"Does this hurt?"

My mother winced, and bellowed.

"Of course it hurts! Why do you think I'm here? What kind of jackass doctor are you?"

We all laughed. After the exam my brother and I agreed she was getting better. She was as feisty as ever. He made plans to fly out to Hawaii for a business meeting. I made a reservation to return to Washington. My convictions were cemented later when my mother referred to me as a smart aleck. She also looked up at me at one point and declared. "I don't think you are going to like this, and I don't care what you think, but television was the worst invention ever created in my lifetime."

Oh yes, my mom still had a lot of fight and spirit left. But things changed quickly. I never got on that flight. Her condition deteriorated. Last night my sister Patty gave me the latest update. Her pulminary functions and kidney functions are starting to go. She's going, and I'm already gone.

On Saturday morning I leaned down, and kissed her forehead and whispered.

"I love you mom. I have to go back home to Washington. You have a journey you have to take as well. We'll miss you, but one day we'll all be together again. Goodbye."

I know in my heart that her pain is gone, and soon my mom will be reunited with my dad. We'll all gather for her funeral, and we'll celebrate a wonderful woman and a wonderful life.