A Lengthy, Self-Indulgent Post

This post is just about me, so if you don't care about me, there's no reason to read on. My mom turned 75 on September 13th. On October 13th, I lowered her ashes into a grave. Her birthday was funny. I sent her four dozen roses, two cakes and enough cookies and other snacks to throw herself a party, and I guess she did just that, judging by the ruckus in the background when I called. About three minutes into the conversation, there was some interference on the line and she thought we'd been cut off, so she hung up -- or at least she thought she'd hung up. For some reason, the phone remained off the hook, and I could hear the party going on. I sat there for about 10 minutes, listening in to my sisters, brothers-in-law, nieces, nephews and mom -- whistling or shouting occasionally to try to get their attention -- before I finally hung up. She would have thought it was hilarious, but I never got to tell her the story. The Wednesday before last, I was packing for my semi-annual trip to Green Bay to visit her, when I got a call from one of my sisters saying Mom had suffered a "medical incident" and had been checked into the hospital. Three phone calls later, she said Mom wasn't expected to survive. A half-hour later -- five days earlier than planned -- I was on the road. Eighteen hours later -- after driving through the night -- I was at her bedside. An hour later -- after being told she had no higher brain function -- I had to decide to take her off life support. And 36 hours later, she was dead. She had a caregiver who visited every Wednesday to help her around the house, take her shopping, etc. That Wednesday, she knocked on the door and got no response. She peeked through the window and saw Mom lying on the dining room floor. She literally kicked in the door (Wonder Woman) and called 911. Since the TV was off and Mom hadn't taken her pills since Friday, they think she got up in the middle of the night, had a dizzy spell or tripped and fell, hitting her head on the solid oak table that I'd bought for her on my last visit. She laid there for nearly five days. All the people who usually visit or call on the weekends, including myself, failed to do so that weekend, for some reason. So, we all blamed ourselves in part for her death, although we can't be sure the fall itself didn't trigger an aneurysm. Yada, yada, yada, funeral, me back here in northern VA three days later. I could have done more. I spent three nights in her place out in the country and finally couldn't take the isolation and moved into a hotel. I had no idea how lonely she must have been until I spent some time in her home. Instead of calling once a month, I could have called once a week. Instead of sending flowers and gifts and treats on special occasions, I could have sent them whenever I felt like it. Instead of visiting twice a year, I could have tried for three times. After all, I'm an over-paid, under-worked member of the media. I could have done more. No matter what you're doing for your parents, do more. My day yesterday was spent just moping around my apartment, crying whenever I did little things like delete her number from my speed dial or remove her address from amazon.com or proflowers or my address book. Her phone just rang and rang when I called it. I have to tell my sister that her account hasn't been canceled yet. Little things. And now my thoughts turn to myself. This is the first time in my adult life that I haven't had anyone to take care of -- my grandma, my wife, my fiancée, my mom. All the women who were closest to me, who molded my life, are gone. I had no reason to get out of bed this morning, but I did. I'll have no reason to get out of bed tomorrow, but I will. And maybe someday I'll find a reason again. God answered my prayer that I outlive my Mom, so she'd always have someone to take care of her. Maybe He'll give me someone else. Or not.