raybear | Mother, you had me

Last week on the way to work my cell phone rang on the train. I'm usually the last person who notices my phone is ringing. By the time I pulled it out of my pants, it stopped ringing. I didn't recognize the number, but then realized it was a 770 number (atlanta), not a 773 number (chicago). {Insert hoes in different area codes joke here.}

There was no voicemail left. For a moment I panicked because I assumed it was one of my parents calling me to tell me a family member had died, most likely my grandmother. Why else would I get phone calls at 8:40 am on a Thursday morning? I quickly planned on using my flight voucher to fly to Mississippi for the funeral, and wondered if I would just attend alone, not associating with my parents for fear of outing myself. Better to be a random guy in the back. But how does one successfully crash a funeral WITHOUT being obvious? My only hope would be everyone would be too distraught to notice the strangers. I wondered if I had enough room on my credit card to rent a car and stay in a hotel. But my morbid daydream ended once I called the number and discovered it wasn't my parents cell phone, but instead some financial service, probably calling for the previous owner of my cell phone number (he apparantly racked up some debt, because I got lots of calls in the beginning).

This morning I was thinking about my own mother, and how if she were to get sick or die, my future self would be yelling at my past self (which is currently my present self) for being an idiot and not calling her more. I would admonish myself for not pushing aside my fears for the sake of 10 minutes of conversation or telling her I love her with my own voice, not in an e-mail. I would pound my head for my foolishness and gnash my teeth in regret. I wouldn't remember how much my heart aches or the paralysis that comes with disappointment, anger, and rejection. I'd paint these as perfect opportunities that I squandered, beautiful moments in time I was unable to capitalize on because of emotional impotence. My future self would be unable to cope with the sheer disappointment and would convert it to blame on my past/present self.

I miss my mom.