Telephone

A few days after the conversation with Tom,  about how to deal with the news about Mom, I was on our bed, lying down on top of the maroon, beige and brown log cabin quilt that I’d found on a visit to see Tom’s Aunt Marie. Aunt Marie was one of the smartest and warmest of Tom's relatives and she lived in Pennsylvania Dutch country. I was admiring the handiwork of the Amish craftswomen who sewed the quilt, because they produced neat, uniform stitches around each square and rectangular piece of fabric.  The stitches reminded me of the early sewing lessons I got from Mom. It was slow going, but after awhile I got pretty good at it, making simple dresses and pants for years, until I was out of college. I held the phone in my left hand, while I tried tucking my feet underneath a few throw pillows. Mom was on the other end, giving me an update on her health. Midway through the call, Tom who had been putting the kids to bed for a nap heard my voice. He opened the bedroom door and came in, motioning to me.

“Let me speak to her, okay?” he whispered, sliding onto the bed beside me.

I nodded. “Mom, Tom wants to talk to you, okay?” I said, and then handed him the receiver.

“Hi, Doris,” he said warmly. “How are you feeling?”

“Not so good today, Tom,” Mom told him. She was still experiencing painful symptoms from the tumor.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Tom responded.  He paused for a second or two as if to prepare himself for the second part of the call.

“Listen, Doris. Heather and I have thought a lot about this. We want you to come here to Washington to find out what’s causing the pain you’re experiencing. That way, you can meet with some doctors we know and stay with us during any treatments you might need to have.”

I couldn’t hear what she was saying, so a few seconds later, I tapped his arm.

“What did she say?,” I whispered.

Tom just looked at me and shrugged. The two of us pressed our backs into the pillows against the solid wood headboard.

“Oh, okay Tom,” she said finally, in a small, quiet voice. “If you and Heather think that’s best…”

“We think it is.”

“Okay, I’ll get myself ready then,” she said. And that was that.

The stars must have all been in alignment because when I called the next morning, to my gynecologist agreed to schedule Mom for an appointment.

The only task left to do was transportation: getting Mom from Charlotte to DC. I couldn’t figure out the timing for a return airline ticket. My mind raced. What treatments would Mom need? How long would the treatments last? We didn’t know anything and so finally I quit trying and simply booked a return ticket for two months down the road.