One Year

Yesterday, it had been one year since I last saw mom outside the hospital. I had an afternoon job interview close to city hall, and I took I Street toward West Sacramento. I was in the middle lane to facilitate getting on the bridge, and I saw mom waiting at the crosswalk at 9th and I Street, on the south side. She was walking home from the library. I saw her as I drove by, and wanted to turn around to talk to her. But I was on a one way street, in the part of the grid filled with one way streets, and by the time I decided to turn I was a block away and facing the potential of at least five blocks to get back to the same spot. By then, mom would have gone at least a block or two. So I didn't turn, and I continued home.

I called mom that evening to tell her about the interview. I wasn't surprised that I didn't hear back. I figured she was busy, or had the radio on, or didn't feel up to talking. That was common, and I figured she would call when she had a chance.

The next call I received was from the hospital. I was at John's parents house, and only checked my phone (which was on silent) because I was looking for something in my purse. I had a message from a doctor at UC Davis, telling me mom was in the ER, on a breathing machine, and asking for me to call. It felt like it took forever to get someone from the hospital on the phone. Then we left to go see her. It was around 4pm, I was mid-beer, and we were about to have dinner for John's dad's birthday.

A lot happened over the next two months. And now, mom is gone, and I wish so much that I had never received that call, and that she was still here.