#30 Lenten Reflections
I’m not sure when the call will come. That call. The one that comes at 3:00 in the morning when nothing good happens. I picture myself jumping on a plane to try and make it back to my childhood home if my sister calls to tell me Mom is so tired of the pain and they just can’t figure it out this time, or maybe it’s Dad who was on a ladder. Because the man cannot stay off of ladders.
I’ve gotten calls when Mom is at the ER or Dad is at urgent care. I always ask my sister, “Please, please (!) tell me honestly, is it now?”
“It’s not now, Lucretia” she’ll reassure me.
I’ve been there for gut pain, burning in the knee, back spasms, eyesight waning, memory lapsing. But not the big stuff. Probably because the big stuff has been managed well by my sisters and now it’s not big anymore.
When the call comes, I probably won’t make it on time. I’m too far away. I just have to come to know that I guess. Is it better to talk about this or is it bad luck? I’m a strong believer that if I put something out into the universe, it won’t happen for a long time. I have to say it. It’s like I push pause on the bad and the good will fill my glass with hope again. I sound like my Dad, positive about all things. In his words: “Man, I like it here, gonna make it to 90!” But I also need to think like my Mom, the realist: “Si vamos a morir, vamos a morir” (If we’re going to die, we’re going to die).
Be Present.
Then I call them on Facetime and Dad reassures me it’s “another good day” as he nestles the iPhone on the woodpile and I can almost smell the pine. He listens to me tell stories of my day as he breaks apart sticks for kindling and Mom shows me her plants or teases about having to share the pecan trees with the crows.
Memories
In the “good old days” I picture us sitting at the kitchen table when I was little and Mom and Dad would listen to me read poems I’d write. They were always long and descriptive, but they sat intently listening as parents do. I remember when Mom would drive me to choir or soccer and we’d chat about her latest Reader’s Digest Condensed book. I’d always tease her about reading only the good parts of the book and she’d laugh. “I love my Reader’s Digest, I just read five books! “Or when Dad and I would load each other’s arms up with wood, the wood piercing my arms, but we were callous to it. Then we’d haul it in to build a fire.
The Dance.
Still today, my favorite memories are seeing them dance.
It’s how I know them best, my dancing folks. Whether it’s Anne Murray, Don Williams or Johnny B Goode, they dance. They move together smoothly like an artist moves his brush on a palette – up and down – spinning – dipping – because dancing is a language felt between them. The familiarity and connection feel like home.
So I’ll leave you with a video of them dancing to Don Williams.
Because they are okay for now. We all are. Thank God. Right now they are at a Rosary for our cousin Cora who just passed away at 99. Wow! We have great genes.
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