One more thing to Say, Do, or Hear

It was time for a visit. A few years earlier, I had taken the Southwest Coach Amtrak train from Denver, Colorado to Southern California. It had been several years since I had left my home state, and now I would return to visit with family and friends. One of those on my list was to visit my mom's house.

I had only stayed at her home in the high desert for a day or so. She had a large yard, surrounded by cinder blocks. A few dogs and a cat wandered about in the grassy area. The walls of the house were cinder blocks also.

Inside the home it was much cooler than it was ioutside, but the first night we were there, we found out that the fireplace was clogged up, and we'd slept near it. Whether or not it was coincidence or not, my son and I had gotten sick for several days. Still it was good to spend some time with her.


Six months or so after I departed and returned home, I got a call from her, and I found out she'd fallen outside in the yard and had her arm operated on. She's also had cataracts. Each eye was operated on one at time,and much to her surprise she could see better than she ever thought she could.


It had been several years since I'd left California and moved to Colorado. Upon my return, I had decided to visit a few homes where my mother had lived at in her later years.

I had moved back to the same locale as she had been, which was something I hadn't considered before. Now, all I could see of the cinder block home was weeds, which had grown up in the yard and nobody lived there now.

I decided to visit the other home, which was at the far side of town near the air force base. Almost any day we might have to cover our ears because of the incredible sound planes overhead would make on take off.

I drove to where it was, first going one way, and then another. I couldn't find it, yet I knew it was there. Had I somehow missed it because of the trees lining the street? I knew it was a short distance from the corner. I must have drove up and down that street five times before I spotted a vacant lot, also grown with weeds. At some point, they had torn down that building and some smaller ones across from it, and the only remains were those pipes for plumbing and such. My face felt hot and somehow I felt robbed.

Tears sprang from my eyes. No. I'm not going to cry{. That's just useless, I told myself, yet my stomach quivered and quaked. My mind said one thing, my body another. Silent tears spilled down. Because there was no stopping it, I allowed myself to go ahead and feel everything and it was a while before my sobbing had stopped. Not only had I lost my mother, but even where she seemed happiest was gone.


I may be getting a bit ahead of myself here. Let me explain. During the time between my long distance visit and this search for her home, I had returned to Colorado, but discreetly had this box I had saved for her. In it were things she might enjoy--a pretty pink house dress, costume jewelry (she loved that kind of thing), stationary and several small things. It was months before I decided to send it. What made up my mind was one phone call.

"I've been having chest pains lately," she said.

"Chest pains?"

"Yes."

I didn't want to alarm her too much, because I was still pondering this problem, and I didn't want her to panic or know that I was worrying about it. "Well, as you get older you might get aches and pain"s, which you didn't have before, but if it gets worse you should see a doctor. After I said it, I felt kind of like a shit. It sounded as if I was downsizing her ailments. : "In fact, you should see a doctor as soon as possible."

After we hung up, I glanced at that box and decided maybe I should go ahead and send it. What was I waiting for anyway? She wasn't getting any younger. And so I set out to do that.. I even decided to send her a nice greeting card and wrote in it, "I love you." That was something I didn't usually do. Within days, I'd shipped it off, and then waited to see her reaction.

About a week or so had passed, or so it seemed. No phone call. I'd wait. Finally the phone rang. It was my brother. He never called me before so why was he now? I shrugged it off, thankful that for some reason he decided to call.

"Are you sitting down?"

"Why? Did something happen?"

"First tell me if you're sitting down."

"No, what is it you have to tell me?"

"Sit down first."

"Okay, fine, I'm sitting now. Is something wrong? Where's Mom? Is she okay?"

"Mom died today," he said.

My jaw dropped open. "What? No. Where is she? Let me talk to her. "

"She died on the operating table."

"On the operating table? I can't believe this is happening. " Slowly my muddled mind realized how everything started to make sense. Why else would he have called? I let him talk, filling me in on how she was rushed to ER and he waited but she never came out.

And I remembered the box. It wasn't until after a little breakdown on my part, that he had put his live-in girlfreind on the phone and I found out more and asked about the box.

"Yes, she got it and it was opened. I don't know if she saw everything in it."

To this day, I still wonder if she had found the card and read it first and whether it was the last thing that she ever saw before her death. Maybe that's how it is. We each have one more thing to do or one more thing to say or hear before we let go of this life.