The phone rang on Saturday at 5:07 am; it was my mother. I was fearing the feared-call. My mother never calls that early. She said she felt odd: She went on and on. She bumped her toe. Not sure if she fell and hit her head. She didn’t sleep. She hasn’t slept well since I bought her new bedding, she is too hot. Maybe she should have the aide put the old bedding back on the bed? Her hammer toe. She was ready to have the man upstairs take her. Should she go to the hospital?

And I said: “Today is your birthday!”

And she said: “I am unhappy on my birthday!”

And I said, in my grog-fog and PTSD-caused-by-a-ringing-phone at 5:00 am: “I will see you later. Go back to bed. You are alright. You didn’t fall. Rest.”

And she said: “OK, I am hanging up now.”

And I thought: will she be there “later”?

She was “anxious, nervous, scared, shaking.” I know what all of that feels like: I caught it from her. It is based on the “ringing phone.” “The call.” “The news.” For my mother, the ringing will be be the “man upstairs” coming for her.

The end.

I packed up the “stuff;”  the kasha knishes, a card, some cake for the aide and for her if she wanted it; but she is very careful about her sugar intake. (It causes inflammation.) A floral gift. The requested eye drops and an unrequested, extra under-eye concealer. A hair brush. I gave her one of mine.

By the time we arrived, other family members had been situated and the mood was light, at least, lighter than it had been earlier. There was the distraction of company. She was “normal.”

She was 101 years old.

And, she loves music. Show tunes. My Fair Lady. I pulled up a few tunes on youtube and there she went, singing along.

Life can be so good when it goes smoothly. When there are no worries. When things are light, when health is good. When there is love. If only it all could go on forever. Ah, wouldn’t it be loverly?

About 18

While in their 50’s

70’s

Probably in her 70’s

In her late 80’s

About 95 years old

101 years old

101 years old

101 years old

Now it’s time for a sing-along. Let’s forget our worries! Hit, it, kids!

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

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