Please hold the line...your call will be ignored in the order it was received

 Worry always lurks, like an unblinking black spider, in the cob-webbed recesses of my mind. I am always conscious of it but can ignore its presence on occasion. And that's when Guilt, also ever-present, unsheathes its claws, catching me when I've ventured too far from the safety of my den.

I was having dinner with my friends, Allison and Katriel, before we were to attend a performance showcasing the talents of our acting buddy, Spencer. My cell phone alarm, reminding me to call my mother, went off at its usual time:  6 pm. I ignored it because I was in the middle of ordering creme brulee. As three spoons did battle, spearing one another to attain territorial control over the dessert, we could hear, as though from across a vast field, my name being called. "Amy Mosiman! Amy Mosiman!" 

Scanning the restaurant in confusion, our attention finally landed on my phone, housing the incessant shouting of my daughter, Sydney. She'd apparently been privy to our conversation of the last ten minutes until she finally demanded to be included in our social circle. To the best I can figure, when I had hit ignore on the alarm, it must have coincided with Sydney's incoming call. We were delighted for Sydney to join us. The girls demanded  that Sydney verify my story of killing my Kindle and my daughter did not disappoint...launching into a blow-by-blow description of how I tried to exorcise the demons from the device.

It was now nearly a half hour since I had ignored my mother.

Stepping out of the restaurant into the rain, I called her. The phone rang seven times. 

I always count the rings.

Finally, there was a clunky rattle like the phone had been knocked off the table.

The phone had been pulled off the table by its cord.

My heart sank as I could hear my mother crying.

For the record, I cry when my mother cries.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

"No," she gasped, "I fell."

How long had she laid there, alone, scared, helpless...while I ignored her and enjoyed my creme brulee?

Katriel and then, later, my husband, would argue that she very well could've fallen AFTER 6 and, if I had called her as scheduled, she would not have been discovered until bed-check.

But we'll never know, will we?

Those claws are sharp. And dig deep.

I told my mother that I needed to hang up to call the front desk but she begged me not to go. "I'm scared," she cried. I assured her that I would call her back. That help would be coming immediately. And that I loved her.

And I hung up on my mother.

I returned, shaken, to my table.

Allison and Katriel were ready to bound into action but I wanted to wait for word.

Word came.

It had been decided, that, since she was mobile, to wait until the morning to take her for medical treatment.

I hung up and sat there quietly, the spider in my mind, spinning frantically.

Allsion and Katriel had already gathered up our things and swept me up with them, out the door.

In the darkness, on the drive, I cried, most of the way to my mother's.

Katriel quietly pointed out what a blessing it was that we were only 25 minutes away rather than my usual hour and a half.

We arrived to my mother, curled up, lost in my Dad's big chair, groaning. 

We inspected the damage:  Bruised wrist, elbow, and hip.

"We need ice," I said, Katriel immediately disappearing to retrieve some. I made my mom some tea. Hugged her. Held her hands.

We applied the ice compress and sat quietly with my mom. My friend Cathy had made me some cookies that day and I watched as my mom nibbled at one...hating myself for ignoring my mother.

Katriel wondered about the ice on the hour and a half ride home in the dark.

"The facility will not administer ice or pain reliever without a doctor's consent," I told her...fully understanding her shock and confusion at this news. At our elementary school, ice is administered for slivers, sinus infections, and slips of the truth. In our world, ice makes everything better. Had Katriel and I not driven up...my mother, curled up in a little ball in Dad's chair...would have been alone...feeling helpless, embarrassed, frustrated, confused and in pain. This is not a criticism of Mom's facility. I am indebted to many of the staff members who care for my mother. It is an indictment of the healthcare system of America...that leaves its most vulnerable citizens without respect, dignity, or the care they need. 

And do I need to remind you...I ignored my mother. 

As I drove, away from my mother (gasping as the claws dug in again), I was grateful for my friends who knew, immediately, that nothing upstages my mother. Grateful for Spencer, who hurried to my classroom the next morning to ask how Mom was. I thanked God that Mom's injuries were not catastrophic. 

I didn't sleep that night...mind spinning...pulling claws out of my gut. 

I vowed that I would do better.

And then cried...because it would never be enough.

I'm sorry, Mom.