Here's a tip for you: Once in a while, grief is gonna get you. Feed it and then put it back in its cage

When last we left Vee DeLong, we were regularly enjoying Friday dinner-times together and daily evening phone calls. My mother's life, like the lives of so many other seniors, has gotten incrementally smaller...limited to one television channel, a menu of breakfast cereals and bananas, 6-7 hours of visitation per week, and, poor thing, a daily phone call from me.

So...if the TV goes on the fritz (which happens more than one might think) or the phone isn't working properly, I go into hyper-drive in a vain attempt to keep her walls from closing in even more...think of Han, Luke, Leia, and Chewy in that claustrophobic garbage compactor. 

A month ago, I called Mom at our typical time and was confronted by an unanswered ringing. Where could she be? My husband, frustratingly practical, advised me to calmly wait and call again in 15 minutes. Naturally, I heeded his advice and called every minute for the next half hour before finally calling the front desk of Mom's assisted living facility while Brad held his breath, sure that we would soon be making the two hour round-trip trek as bedtime drew near in the middle of the work-week. 

The very patient staff popped up to Mom's apartment to solve the mystery that she had simply been on the phone with another caller. Whew! What a relief. All of my worst-case scenarios dissolved. A child of the 80s, I was accustomed to a land-line's incessant eh-eh-eh-eh busy signal so this was a learning curve for me. 

Sigh. Everything is a learning curve for me.

The reward for my worry was my Mom's genuine laugh when I berated her for not answering my call. "Mom!" I scolded, "I thought you'd been abducted by aliens!" She responded by giggling and telling me that they'd bring her right back.

Last week, another internet outage targeted BOTH the TV and the telephone and Brad Mosiman knew he was in trouble.

Mom went a full day without either working. Brad and I arrived the following day, relieved that the TV was back on line and went immediately to task, targeting that phone. We checked cords and switched out phones, to no avail. Mom and I went for a walk to the front desk to see if any other residents were experiencing issues. We were advised that we were going to have to contact the telephone carrier which was upsetting as Mom is accustomed to daily communication from me.  Another staff member helpfully mentioned the router and, when Mom and I returned to her apartment, we found Brad already trying to re-set it. Nothing was working.

Discouraged, I sat with Mom at her little kitchen table as we warmed our meal. I watched my husband systematically try different things to get that phone up and running.  I suddenly felt an overpowering wave of missing my dad. It was both a welcome but strange feeling. I think, to guard my heart and protect my often-close-to-boiling-over emotions, my primary feelings, whether he deserves it or not, for my dad are anger and frustration. We are not in the most ideal of situations which originated with some short-sighted decisions originating with him. I am well-aware that I will also, one day, be measured by that misguided measuring stick. We all do the best we can. Dad did the best he could...and now, when he can no longer take care of his girl...Brad and I are doing our best to represent him in that endeavor.

And there...in my Mom's apartment...was the embodiment of Earl F. DeLong...obsessed to fix that phone and refusing to leave until the job was done. Brad repeated his steps...checking cords, test-trying the two phones, returning to that router...resetting at 30 seconds, a minute, five minutes. And finally...SUCCESS. Brad's reward? A wife who would be able to sleep that night. And who is he kidding? Every night he asks me if I called my mom and asks how she is. Brad Mosiman loves my mom.

The next day, Brad asked where I wanted to eat on our trip to Batavia. He was not prepared for me to say "Denny's" and burst into tears. My husband was surprised on many levels. First, we were not "Denny" patrons. I am a loyal "Perkin's" girl. Second, going out to eat does not typically elicit tears from me. "I miss my dad," I cried, "I want to go to Denny's and over-tip the waitstaff." Brad laughed, remembering how, each time Dad would "treat" us to "Denny's," we would have to sneak an extra tip onto the table.

So Brad Mosiman took his wife to "Denny's" and didn't comment on her tears as she ordered breakfast at 2 in the afternoon. We "toasted" my dad and I just let myself miss him before re-building that protective wall around my heart. Imbalanced on my best days, I have to carefully place the constant weight of worrying about, caring for, and loving my mother on one side of the fulcrum while the other side is counterbalanced by my confusion, my anger, and my childish frustration at our situation. 

I left the restaurant feeling much better.

Obviously no one can take as good of care of Vee DeLong as her husband, but I think that he knows how hard we are trying.

And I love how annoyed my dad would have been if he knew how much we'd just tipped for luke-warm coffee.