Friday, November 20, 2009

One more time.

How many times can you say that you miss your mother and wish more than anything in the world that the last five months were a dream and that you hoped you would soon wake up to one of her patented phone calls where she reminds you that it is, in fact, your mother calling, without everyone completely losing patience and telling you to just get the hell over it?

I have one of her infamous calls on my voicemail still. I apparently can go to Comcast's website and access my messages, and hopefully make an audio capture, but I'm terrified that I'll accidentally delete the message, and I really need to keep it as it's her voice and it's an incredibly long and completely typical Mom monologue about how our Costco membership (in my dad's business' name) is going to expire and that we need to send money if we want to keep it going. It's one of those messages that, if I were in an espionage movie and needed to make a recording of Mom's voice to get me past a security terminal that was coded to her speaking a specific phrase, would win the affections of the leading man, as I think she actually says every word the nuns ever taught her merely to let me know that I could either pay her back the $40 or write a check directly to Costco.

3 comments:

KUrlie said...

Sweets - you'll never get over it, but someday you may get through it. Probably not soon however, so you have my permission to tell anyone who assumes you should to piss off. Please stop being so hard on yourself for feeling deeply sad about the biggest loss of your life. I love you bunches.
Love Karen

mjbcoug said...

I so want a copy of that message. It would go perfectly with the recurring phone greeting in my head where I answer the phone and say "Hi Mom." and she replies "Oh hi Mark, it's Mom." I must have that message.

Tina Blewett said...

I completely agree with your first paragraph. I frequently fantasize that when I get home after being gone that she'll be there in the kitchen fixing dinner, or in her rocking chair with her feet pulled up under her reading the paper, or asleep on the couch as we try to watch a movie. It kills me every time I end the fantasy and realize I'll never see her again. Make a recording of that voice mail for me too.