That’s what caller ID shows when Mom calls me. Our conversations are as short as the caller ID.
“Hi, Lori. It’s Mom. I don’t remember why I called. Bye.”
“Hi, Lori. It’s Mom. I don’t want people cleaning my apartment. Make them stop.”
“Hi, Lori. It’s Mom. Where is the blue material? I want to make cushions.”
I usually don’t have time to respond before she hangs up on me, my “I love you” disappearing into a dial tone. It’s like she simply has to get the idea out into the universe. I jot notes on scrap pieces of paper and follow up when I’m there in person.
Today I received this call.
“Hi, Lori. It’s Mom. There’s a birthday list here and we need to write cards. Please come over.”
Before she hung up, I told her I’d come after dinner.
Mom likes to send birthday cards. She always has. I arrived, reminded her she wanted to send birthday cards, and got the Ziploc bag labeled “birthday cards” from her closet, a pen, and a pad to practice on. She said, “Now whose birthday is it?” I walked her to the bulletin board where earlier in the year Dad had made her a cheat sheet of family and friend birthdays by month. I read the June birthdays: a grandson, me, a family friend, and a granddaughter-in-law.
There were no July birthdays listed.
We both saw it at the same time. Dad’s birthday. August 15. She started crying and I followed a mere milli-second later, hugging her tightly. “I miss him so much,” we said in unison, crying, then crying some more, which then turned into sobbing, a mother and a daughter missing the same man, more than either ever thought possible.
After a few minutes and several Kleenex later, we sat on the balcony, watching the sun set. I love the Blue Ridge mountains, shadowing each other, deeper and darker versions of blue layered upon each other. As the sun set farther, the outline of the mountains became darker, more pronounced. We sat in our rocking chairs, holding hands, rocking in unison, side by side.
“This is my favorite time of day.”
I nodded. “Mine, too.”
“I really like it here.”
I didn’t want to break the spell by asking her to repeat herself, in case I had mis-heard.
I nodded. “Me, too.”