This week is going to be slightly bizarro. It's always this way the week before I leave for an overseas trip. Enjoying the usual routine, encountering that odd feeling of "I don't want to go" even though I so want to go... and of course trying to stay on top of those last minute errands. The ryokan is booked and I've got a sexy cell phone reserved as well. Let's see if I don't steal it -- so tempting, those Japanese cell phones that are way cooler than ours except maybe my iPhone. Now the question is: book those three unplanned nights in Tokyo or at a hot springs resort? Life's rough.
Yep, this time a week from now I will most decidedly be out of town. Town, city, country, continent, hemisphere. But back home in a sense. I think of Japan as home too and I can't wait to go home. Friends are waiting there and it's a different atmosphere altogether. It's the place where a piece of me that's been put on a shelf gets taken back out, then comes alive.
So you could say I'm excited about going. But I'm still feeling a little off balance after what happened this weekend. I was working late on Friday, feeling good after having had a great, productive call with someone, when Mom called a short while later. I heard the old-school ring on my iPhone but didn't reach it in time. Called her right back. "Boy am I glad to hear your voice" she said in that something's wrong voice.
Mom was having a health emergency at that moment and, her husband being out of town, she didn't want to be alone. Her awesome doctor said that although things seemed all right, she'd have to go to the emergency room if it got any worse. She wanted to know if she could stay with me. "Absolutely. That's not even a question, Mom. I'm not going to let anything happen to you." "Really?" she asked. "Yup. Come on over."
So Mom hopped on the train and made her way to Astoria from the Bronx. Meanwhile, I made my way home from work in the rain and then got the apartment in good shape in advance of her arrival. Lit some candles, tidied up and then put on the soundtrack to Black and Blue, which Mom and I had seen on Broadway when I was in high school. (I'll never forget how amazing the late great Ruth Brown was and how shocked I was when my goody-two-shoes Mom told me to listen to the double-meaning lyrics of "If I Can't Sell It, I'm Gonna Sit Down on It" because they were funny. Mom!) I knew the music would bring up happy mother-daughter memories for Mom too and so that was the clear choice. When she showed up she noticed it right away and said it cheered her up.
I asked what Mom wanted for dinner and she said "something light," so I thought Il Bambino might be a good call. They have killer paninis (whereas I used to think they were boring... these things are spectacular), among other tasty Italian treats. So we loaded up on a pick-up order and I went out to get it. Brought it back and as I opened the door, there she was smack in front of the door. "I was right," she said, "I can't be alone tonight. Even that half hour while you were gone I was freaking out." "Well," I said, "I'm home now and I'm here for the long haul so we're in good shape. I'm not going anywhere."
Mom and I had dinner and then chit-chatted until it was time to call it a night. The next morning we had coffee at home followed by lunch at Panera and an outing to see American Gangster (good movie!). All through that day she said she was feeling both physically and emotionally better. She was glad to have the support and to know that I was there for her. Like I said, not a question. It was almost like an excuse just to hang out with my mom for the weekend! Even so, I know how scary it can be to be seriously ill and all alone (pneumonia this past year for starters... not breathing is not okay as it turns out) so I wanted to be there for her. But yeesh, nothing shakes you up like news that someone you're really close to is in danger. Think it's going to take a while before I stand down from my general alert. And you can bet I'll be emailing her often from that little cell phone in Japan, checking up on the Mama.
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