A lthough I consider myself to be a good daughter, I have been guilty of forgetting to call my mother.
I know there’s no excuse for neglecting one’s familial obligations. Yet, I tend to get wrapped up in daily events, family crises and hey, those utility bills aren’t simply going to pay themselves.
Oftentimes, when I’ve gone too long without proper communication, I’ll get Mom’s message on the machine that my family and I have lovingly dubbed “The Deathbed.”
“Lori,” my precious parent starts out as she speaks barely above a whisper. “Honey, are you there? This is your mother.” Then there’s the long proverbial pause before she adds a weak cough for drama, and to up the ante on her little production, she manages an audible wheeze.
“More than likely you’re traveling abroad,” she continues. “While I, the woman who nursed you through immunizations, buck teeth and school-yard bullies, sit here alone. Alone with no one. Oh, I know you’re busy. Certainly too busy for an old woman as she suffers her last breath.”
Then, for her big finale, my mother will do another weak cough and hang up. I feel shameful as I pick up the phone and dial her number. I’m in trouble and I know it.
“Hi Mom,” I start out as chipper as possible. “What are you up to?”
“Welllll,” she replies as she surely picks up her coffee and gets in position for the guilt trip on which we’re about to embark, “Who is this?”
“It’s Lori, Mom.”
“Who?”
“Lori!”
She then calls out to my father, “Art, do we know anyone named Lori?”
“Who?” My father responds as he eagerly joins in. After all, if Mom’s working up a guilt trip, he doesn’t want to be left out of the fun.
“Lori!” Mom shouts back as if it was necessary.
“No,” he says as he surely shakes his head and appears to ponder, “I don’t remember anyone by that name. Why?”
“Because, someone named Lori is on the phone and she claims to be our daughter.”
“Hang up on her,” Dad responds. “It’s probably one of those money-making schemes.” And so it goes until my mother finally concedes that she does, in fact, remember me and that if I promise to do better, she may even enter my name back into the family Bible.
Despite my occasional extrication, I must admit that I never thought that forgetting to call your mother was that big of a deal. But now that my own kid will go for long periods without communication, I’m starting to change my mind.
Why just last month that eldest son of ours went the better part of two weeks with little or no contact before I sent a text to see if it would be a good time to call.
I may be no spring chicken anymore, but I do know how to communicate with the peeps.
“I’m at work” was our Vernon’s response, complete with a “Whassup?”
As if a mother needs a “Whassup” situation before she calls.
“Nothing,” I texted back. “But it’d be nice if you called me sometime.”
The next day he responded to my inquisitive text that he was taking a nap. Later that week he replied that he’d call me in a bit, and the final straw was the response that he was with his buddy and would call when he had a chance.
While I sat and waited for a phone call that never came, I’m quite certain that Vernon stopped in on friends, visited old haunts and shared the wealth that is his presence with those fortunate enough to have him.
“Mom,” he said when he finally found time in his busy life to call the woman who helped him through first-year molars and furnished his campus abode with toilet paper, “what are you up to?”
“Who is this?” I asked as I began the makings of a guilt trip that I hadn’t even contemplated on embarking.
“Hey,” he said, “can you hang on a minute while I grab a couple of things?”
“Huh?”
“Well, if you’re going to be taking me on one of Grandma’s guilt trips, I’ll need to pack.”
The next time that smart aleck goes for weeks without phoning his mother, he’s so getting The Deathbed call.
Lori Clinch is the mother of four sons and the author of the book “Are We There Yet?” You can reach her at [email protected].