when the phone rings

When I was a senior in high school I worked for a department store down the street from my house. One day, the manager walked up to me and said, “You’ve got a call. It’s your mom.” I knew it was bad.  As it turns out, my step-grandfather (Curly) had suffered a major heart attack and was in the hospital. My mom and I drove to San Antonio and met my grandmother at the hospital. Curly was OK (for Curly), but my grandmother was never the same.

When we walked into my grandmother’s house that night, my eyes were immediately drawn to the kitchen table. Curly’s plate of fried eggs and Jimmy Dean sausage was sitting right where he had left it. His fork was on the seat of his chair. His glasses were shattered and lying on the floor. As I stared at the kitchen table, I was filled with a strange sense of fear and dread. Those images are as vivid today as they were 25 years ago.

Last night, we had grilled chicken, corn and spinach salad for dinner. Ellen said grace while Charlie chanted, “I no like corn. I no like grass (salad).” It was normal fare. After dinner I made four small bowls of pistachio pudding. I was topping each one with a sloppy dollop of Cool Whip when the phone rang.

As I watched Steve’s face and listened to his questions, time started slowing down. The kitchen became smaller and I struggled to fight off tunnel vision. I knew it was bad.  

A very important person in our lives had collapsed and being rushed to the emergency room. We needed to get there. Steve left right away. Within minutes, my phone tree was activated and three friends volunteered to stay with the kids. I decided it would be best to put Charlie down before I left.

Sensing that I was not at the top of my mother game, my friend Laura instructed me to “carve out 20 minutes, give Charlie my full attention, stick with the routine and get him down.”  He threw Night-Night out of the crib three times. The first time I smiled, rubbed his back and tucked both of them back in. By the third time, I was losing my mind. I wanted to scream, “Stop! I’m in crisis here. Give me a break. Please!” But, I didn’t. I took a lot of deep breaths, stayed calm and he was asleep by the time Erin arrived.

I talked to Dawn all the way to the hospital. I ranted and raged. She listened.

The news at the hospital was scary and overwhelming, but the outcome was good. Thank God.

Steve and I got home around 11:30pm. As soon as we walked in the back door, I noticed that Erin had cleaned up the entire kitchen. The only thing left out was one ramekin of pistachio pudding. When I saw it sitting on the counter, I collapsed. It was the first time I cried all night.

Just like the night of Curly’s eggs and glasses, my heart filled with fear and dread. This time, however, a new understanding softened the fear. That pudding was the symbol of normalcy interrupted.

Now I understand that these calls almost always come when we are making pudding or blowing our hair dry or minding our own lives. By definition, it is the unexpectedness of these calls that reminds us that loss and crisis can slice through the softness of our very ordinary, tender lives with such force that we’re not sure we’ll ever piece things back together. My greatest fear is the inability to return to a sense of normalcy. Can I find my way back to the way it was before the phone rang?

More importantly, I understand that living in fear of these calls never stops them from happening. It just sucks the joy right out of the wonderful, small moments that fill most of my days. Planning and rehearsing for these calls doesn’t help one bit when the phone rings. It just makes me crazy waiting for phone to ring while I'm praying that it doesn't.

What does help? My friends. They always show up.  My family. They are always here for me.

I’m exhausted from spending the day at the hospital, but I needed to write this tonight. I need to put this commitment out to the universe: I’m going to work really hard to spend less time planning for these calls and more time enjoying the people who are always there for me when the phone rings.

Comments

[Jen A.]

I have heard so much about you from Dawn...what a terrifically gifted writer you are, and I absolutely adore the line "love and crisis often slice through the softness of our very ordinary, tender lives" and when you said "can I find my way back to the way it was before the phone rang." So powerful.

LOVING your blog and praying for you and your family during this crisis. This just happened last night?!

Thank you for sharing your talents.

[Shawn]

I hope everything's okay. Sounds like you've had a rough week. This post blew me away. So incredibly true. Miss chatting with you. Holler when things settle down a bit.

{{Hugs}}

Shawn

[dawn]

This post makes me believe that PTSD really does it occur. It is like when you get the call, your brain stops and imprints every sight, sound, and smell around you. Who hasn't experienced something like this. It is just so awful for those of who relive the bad moments/memories each day.