I'm still young enough to occasionally want to run to my mommy and curl up in her lap and have her tell me everything will be okay, and have that make things all better. Granted, my mother was never the type to play the"everything will be alright" card. She was always far to realistic for that. And if I were to curl up on her lap, I would smother her and she would die. But still, figuratively, it would be a nice idea.

Even though I am now far away (though not the farthest I have lived from her) I still call all the time to share my frustrations and vent while she tells me I am being silly, or I need to get organized, or just tells me to shut up cause she doesn't want to hear it AGAIN, but when my source of stress is HER, I have no one to call. So what do I do?

We did not always get along as well as I would have liked, but in retrospect, while we had our problems, we were still closer than a lot of people and so I was kind of lucky. Disfunctional? Duh, but still something good there. Enough for me to want to run there right now and be the pay her back for taking care of me for all those years by doing the same for her.

Instead though, I am here going through the mundane motions of everyday life and WISHING I was there and knowing that even if I was there would be nothing I could do except for being there and while she says no, wait, see what will have to happen, I know she would be glad to know that I was there.

I swear if this all turns out to be related to some failure on the part of the surgeon down here doing something wrong because he was stupid and didn't pay attention, I will personally track him down, punch him in the nose to make him cry, kick him in the shins and then knee him in the balls. Apparently he's one of the best cardiologists in the area, but who knows if it's because he's so cocky people believe it or if he's actually any good.

So now my mom is lying in an inner city hospital bed in a un-private room with a roomate who talks to herself, and phone that doesn't work and a tv that only shows a series of pictures of landscapes that she amuses herself by trying to identify and I am 1000 miles away and I can't do a damned things for her - like maybe throw a tantrum until there is cable?

Monday we will have a better idea as to what is wrong and how to fix it and whether I will need to hop on the next plane to take care of her until she is back on her feet. I think she has worked up to an expectation of another bypass to replace the 10 year old graft and the stents of last month, and that will mean a month of no driving and taking iteasy, then a gradual return to the real world and a more normal level of activity. I am very worried though. I love my mommy. I NEED my mommy. I am not done with her yet. And she is sick and I am helpless and she is at the mercy of the medical gods and she is scared too. She puts on a brave face, but I can hear it in her voice. A tone of worry that is so rare.

We almost expect our parents to be immortal. Growing up, they're like these huge omnipotent superheroes. They see all, hear all, know all and they are made of marble and steel and diamonds and nothing can break them and wear them down except for the artfully executed boo-boo lip and the occasional crocodile tear. I see - saw my mother like that...'cause she was too tough to be taken down. Now I don't know anything except that I don't like this one bit.


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