My mother is in the hospital with pneumonia.
They thought she had some highly contagious disease. They called in the infectious disease crew and my father had to wear a mask near her.
She was just here. She watched my kids on Saturday for my birthday date night out in Philly (wonderful! but sadly, for another post). She was sick when she got here and gradually got so bad that she disapeared into her room and stayed sleeping for almost 48 hours. Then she got on a plane, flew home and the next day was in the hospital.
On a scale (preferrably sliding) how horrible a daughter am I that I had very little concern for my mom and was in an absolute panic over my babies?
I take a great deal of solace in the fact that they were her major concern too.
I love my mom.
I once told her that the sound of her voice on the other end of the line was like a pressure release valve. This is still true.
She is my second best friend in the world (having slid down only after I fell in love with the right man).
And she lies in a hospital bed on oxygen, an IV and antibiotics.
And she is worrying about my babies.
What a gift.
I know she will be fine. I know she will recover.
She is getting older.
She is beginning to seem mortal.