Reflections - Mothering on the Fly
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| Ellen |
“Wait. I need the topic sentence,” Spence says when I chatter about my latest cat encounter or an idea for a story. The last Monday in November, I could have used a whole chapter before my phone conversation with our daughter Ellen. As soon as I got out of bed that morning, I texted her: How are you and Chris doing?
My curiosity arose from not hearing from her since she emailed that her husband Chris had nibbled toast while she ate an apple and a graham cracker for Thanksgiving because they were recovering from flu.
That she didn’t answer right away meant she was asleep. Good. I wrote my morning journal, stretched for yoga, and munched on breakfast before she texted back.
Not quite 100% after the flu yet. Trying to figure out next steps. It’s a big shock.
An intense reaction to the flu, perhaps, but Ellen is my dramatic offspring. I typed back a motherly note: Radio said it was a monster flu. Take care. Hugs.
The phone rang.
Sitting across from me, Spence, who’d eaten much earlier, stopped tapping his laptop keys and reached to the counter for the house phone. “Yeah. She’s here.” He handed the receiver across the dirty dishes. “It’s Ellen.”
“Hi, babe.”
“Hi.” Normally her voice sounded chipper. Today it sounded like the bass in a dirge.
“Is Chris going back to work? How is he?”
“No. He’s got a terrible cough.”
“Better he stays at home then.” I looked at the dishes thinking I could start clearing the table, but something in Ellen’s tone told me to give her all my attention.
“He’s not staying home.” Her voice held a tinge of fear and anger. “He’s driving to Baltimore.”
“With that cough?” My mind raced. Why would Chris go to Baltimore? His sister lived there. “Will he wear a mask? He wouldn’t want to give the cough to his sister.”
A disgusted groan came through the receiver. “Not funny, Mom. After Christopher has been sick, his animal allergies flare up. Hence the cough.”
Okay. He didn’t feel great. He missed a week of work for the flu. Something didn’t calculate. “How can he take more time off?”
Ellen whispered. “Bereavement leave.”
With puzzlement not compassion I blurted, “Who died?”
Ellen’s annoyed, how-dense-can-you-be voice answered. “Chris’s sister.”
“Goodness gracious! Oh, Ellen. I’m so, so sorry.”
Her voice relented. “I texted Dad early this morning figuring he’d be the only one awake. Didn’t he tell you? I thought you knew when you asked how we were.”
“No.” Gripping the receiver to ground myself, I looked across the table into Spence’s worried eyes. “Did you get Ellen’s text this morning?”
He shook his head. “My phone’s on do not disturb.”
“He didn’t get it, Ellen. What happened, honey?”
She heaved a heavy sigh. “Christopher’s dad called from the hospital about two this morning. He wanted Christopher to hurry and come. But Stephanie was already in a coma from insulin shock. I knew he’d never make it in time.” Ellen sniffed. “She died two hours later. They couldn’t save her.” Sobs poured through the line.
I wanted to hug my baby, but I only had my voice. And what good is a voice against such unexpected loss. “How’s Chris doing?”
“He’s asleep. I made him go back to bed. He needs the rest because he’s talking about driving to Baltimore, about picking up his mother. She might not be able to fly on her own.” Ellen’s voice quavered. “I’m worried about him making the drive with his terrible cough.”
From West Lafayette, Indiana to Baltimore, Maryland by way of North East, Pennsylvania was a long drive—over seven hundred eighty-miles. Chris had to navigate endless Midwest interstates, two-lane Pennsylvania roads winding through mountains and small towns, then bumper-to-bumper East Coast congestion. His cough and grief would make the drive even more difficult. “He’s strong, Ellen. He’ll manage because he’s doing this for his mom and his sister. He’ll be fine.”
She shouted, “You don’t understand! His cough is like asthma. When he coughs, he stops breathing. I’m wor-ri-ed.” The last word dragged out wobbly. “I’m worried about him driving so far.”
I hadn’t understood.
A lot.
Assuming Ellen just overreacted to the flu, I’d missed all the cues about Stephanie's death. I didn’t comprehend her worry about Chris driving as dread of losing her husband too. And, unspoken, must be the fear of her own fragile mortality. Because of her recent diabetes diagnosis, Ellen was still adjusting to new medication which suppressed her appetite. Add to that, the flu had made her vomit the orange juice she needed to balance her blood sugar. Even recovering after the flu, she struggled to keep food down. Ellen risked insulin shock herself.
A thousand questions popped into my head about what put Stephanie in the coma. Ellen needed mothering. I didn’t ask any. “Of course you’re worried. I’ll email Sister Julie right away and ask her to pray for Chris.” I tried to hug Ellen with my words by keeping my voice calmer than I felt. “Sister Julie will ask the whole convent to pray for him.”
Later I would learn Sister Julie’s prayers were answered within hours. Chris’s mother arranged to ride with her brother. Chris scheduled an afternoon flight to Baltimore. And Sister Julie prayed for “safe travels.”
At the time, Ellen’s calm, normal soprano-pitch voice said, “Thanks, Mom.”
I didn’t feel I deserved her thanks. I’d done so little—being on the other end of the phone line, working with the information I had, and listening until I got it right.
That’s mothering on the fly.
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| Stephanie |
