The phone rings....

...during the middle of the night. It's always been my biggest fear because it's never a good thing. I went to bed late on Sunday night because of the Academy Awards and about 2:00 a.m. my phone rings. I, of course, didn't find it in time because I was really foggy - probably just hitting r.e.m. - so I stumbled to the kitchen to see who had called. I didn't recognize the number, but when I heard the voicemail, my heart stopped for what seemed like years. "Hi Julie, This is Nancy from Holland Hospital ICU....." This voice goes on to explain to me that my mom was not in a good state. She was very agitated and she just really wanted to talk to me. So, I called the nurse back and while I was waiting on the line for her, my brain became a kalidescope of about 25 memories of my mom.

I remembered a camping trip that we took when I was young and the adventure that her and I had in the bathroom, using the coin operated showers. It was a race against the timer and in the end, we were both standing there in this nasty shower, full of shampoo, laughing because the water kept shutting off and we kept dropping the quarters because our hands were all soapy.

I remembered summer breaks when I would wake up the a.m., my bedroom windows would be open because it was before we had installed central air in the house. It was humid and the birds would be chirping. The first scent would be strawberry jam. My mom makes batches of the stuff and for whatever reason, when I taste or smell her strawberry jam, I'm instantly morphed into summer and waking up to the smell of it.

I remembered the trip that her and I took to Florida when my Uncle Marlin was sick. We were warriors, arriving to save the day, only to realize that it was to late. We stood together by my Uncle's bedside for a week. We had the chance to talk about life and death while we let him go. I remember watching her age during that week.

I remembered wedding dress shopping

I remembered the morning I had Molly. I was so sick. And the look of panic that my mother had when I was quickly going downhill because I had preclampsia. I was at her house because I couldn't sleep during the night and I went out there hoping to find relief in her. And of course, I did.

I remembered when I was young and my grandma died. My dad was in a state that I had never seen from him. He cried. It was the first time I had seen my dad cry. I asked my mom how dad would get through it. She explained that it's easier to cope when you've got your kids and your spouse, so we were going to be my dad's support system.

I remembered a fight that we had when I was in high school. And I stormed out of the house and got in her car. She chased me and had her hands on the passenger door. In the end, her fingers got pinched in the window as I closed it because I didn't want to listen to her. I drove off like a tough girl, but parked at the end of the street and balled because I had caused my mother physical pain.

When the nurse came back on the line, I was sucked back into reality from these memories. She transferred me to my mom's room. My mom picked up the phone and instantly I could hear that it wasn't her. She was talking such gibberish. But, she kept telling me that she knew I would rescue her. I imagine that in her altered state of mind, me telling her that I couldn't come get her and take her home was about the same as me telling Molly or Katie that they couldn't have something that they REALLY wanted. There was complete disappointment, letdown, and discouragment. She told me to take care of her babies and that we'd muddle through this. We talked in circles for about 20 minutes and in the end, I told that I'd see her in a few hours before her surgery. And that was it. I called back to the nurse's line and asked if they could give her some medication to take the edge off. They called the dr. and he gave permission for something. I called back an hour later and she seemed to be doing better. Of course, I was awake during the rest of the night worrying, wondering, re-living.

When I arrived at the hospital Monday a.m., she didn't recognize me. When my dad arrived, she didn't recognize him. My everyday life is constantly moving at full speed. It's as if I'm riding a merry-go-round and daily I'm hoping to grab things and keep them in order, but, I don't slow down. If I miss something, I just look back and try to figure out how to grab it the next go around. But when I walked in to her room at that moment, and she looked at me with HUGE eyes, but didn't know who I was, everything stopped. I played it out like one of Tony Soprano's dream sequences. Very eerie. Very slow. Very quiet.

I was living that moment again. I was caught in that web of in between because I'm truly not yet ready to take the reigns. I don't want to be the grown-up yet. My mom is my biggest cheerleader. I'm not ready for that spot to be vacant. And I know that what I'm going through is nothing unique. It's the circle of life. It's happens to everyone. And, I was reminding myself in many different moments that we should be thankful that this was delerium and NOT dementia. Our road was temporary. But, this is a moment in time that I've dreaded literally for as long as I can remember. I've spent many years wondering why it is that I fear losing my parents so much. It grips me. As a young child, I remember my night terrors revolved around this fear. And, in my "smart" mind, I knew that this was just a temporary lapse for her. The dr. explained to us that this delerium was brought on by different factors. I heard it in my smart mind. But, it processed through my crazy mind.

She went through surgery. The infected gall bladder was removed and all that went well. I think I was expecting a small miracle afterwards. Perhaps that she'd just be completely back to normal. That was my crazy mind thinking. And, today is a new day for her. I'm hopeful that when I arrive today, she'll see me and smile and say my name.

Last night when I got home late from the hospital, I sat with my girls on the couch and we listened to Molly read Green Eggs and Ham. I hugged those girls so tight to my side. They asked me how Mom was feeling. I explained to them that she had surgery and that she was resting and now the medicine would REALLY work. They were completely satisfied by that. My biggest hope is that they don't have the fear that I grew up with. I think that so far, they've handled all this really well. I hope that their ideas about illness and hospitals and death are going to form in a healthy way. I soaked in those few seconds last night listening to Molly's little voice read while Katie cuddled on my lap. It was a slow moment.....they're rare.