Well, “the call” came this morning, but was it THE call? THE call would be the call from a sorry voice informing me that my 102 year-old mother was gone. But THIS call, albeit from my mother’s physician, was A call informing me that my mother “has a cough and no other symptoms.”

I have been up many nights thinking that I heard the phone ring, anticipating the ring. I would hear words that I wouldn’t want to hear. “Your mother is gone. We found her at such and such a time. She was (fill in the blank) in her chair, in the bathroom, on her bed. We are so very sorry for your loss. I feel if I play out the lines, the scene and the images, it will be easier to bear.

Doctor DiFranco is the third of the three physicians who have a satellite office in my mother’s building and he is probably the nicest, the most efficient  doctor, with his  terrific bedside manner, and compassion. No wonder my mother likes him. She describes him as “fatherly,” a gentleman, and I have learned that he is six years younger than I am: he says I sound much younger than my age. I owe that to my spirit, the one I got from my mother.

The doctor was a good listener: he took in all I had to say about my mother’s sojourn in Florida for almost 30 years and how we moved her back to New York City after having a bout of pneumonia and being near death on hospice care: At age ninety-five. That was almost seven years ago.

She is a fighter. But, does she or doesn’t she? Was she infected by an aide? Is it a cold? Allergy? Could it be something else? I can’t say the words.

So, this cough, as we discussed, is not accompanied by fever or shortness of breath. It will be watched over the next few crucial days. When I spoke to my mother she was in good spirits, happy, and resting in bed. I told her she was fine and that it sounded like an allergy, some kind of usual sinus thing. That relieved her of her fears, however, I reminded the doctor that she has a Do Not Resuscitate order hanging on the refrigerator.

Long life is a funny thing, it is something many people hope for and aspire to, it is something that many of us do not reach. But the older we live, the closer we get to the end, and that stirs up all kinds of fears, anxiety and regret.

Lately, when I have been speaking to my mother on the phone she has been making it a point to say, “I love you.”
It doesn’t hurt to say it. Here, during the strangest of times: times of fear, panic, and disheartening news, times that are pushing us to the brink of a new world order…times that harken back to plagues and horrific wars and famines and terrors, some of us celebrate holidays that have deep meanings from the past to the present. What has been occurring  over the last months is ineffable, unimaginable and now we sit at our Zoom meetings, Seders and Masses and wonder how this all happened. How did we get to this point? Where are we going? Life will eventually go on, but it is my hope that we don’t go back to the recent, hateful past, we have to move forward, take better care of each other, take better care of the earth, become more sensitive and compassionate as a global community.

And show more appreciation and gratitude for everything we have.

This series starts here:
Part 1: And The Band Played On … a mother’s life, a daughter’s journey

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