When mom was sick, I remember the exact phone call when I
said "I'll be there". Anticipating
her resistance, I assured her it was for nothing more than having another body
in the house, a voice down the hall in the night if she woke with the heebie
jeebies. Someone to go for day trips
with if she was feeling pert, or to do the driving for her if she wasn't
feeling up to the task. To my amazement
and relief she said yes. I would have
gone anyway no matter what the answer.
So often as was the case, the conversation down the hall at bedtime was
"good night MaryEllen", good night JohnBoy". And we'd snicker and be quiet for a few
minutes. Then I'd ask how are you feeling
about getting through this night and she'd say she was scared. And I'd say I know, that's why I'm here. And she'd say I know. When her voice became weaker and she
became weaker, she wanted to know that she could muster up help in a hurry, so
we decided on a bell. It wasn't
necessary because I would hear her waken and fuss and I'd be on the edge of my
bed ready to leap. But if she didn't ask
for the help, I usually wouldn't offer, it was a family thing about giving
people their space and respect and dignity.
But sometimes I would wake to the sounds of her retching and I'd
chastise myself for not leaping sooner.
But the bell was as much to make a joke of the need as the need itself,
to have a beautiful silver tea bell to tinkle for her staff to be at her beck
and call. She hated that she would need
the help, but enjoyed the image of the Southern Belle and her silver bell. So the search was on for the perfect bell,
and this small gold mining town that she lived in was going to offer no such
thing. So a trip to the local hardware
store was the next best thing. We walked
the aisles together and looked. Down the
aisle with door bells we found what would be useful. Discovering a wireless battery operated
version was just the ticket. The box
with a large push button would live by the couch with mom, and the box with the
digital bell sound in it would be carried around from room to room with
me. It was not necessary of course
because it was a small mobile home that she was living in at the end, and the
"bing bong" was loud enough to hear from any room. In fact it was loud enough to hear from clear
outside. But it made mom feel better to
know that it was near me and I couldn't miss it. We agreed it was only to be used when there
was real need and to be heeded quickly. We
tested it, it sounded just fine. We went
to different rooms and tested it, and it was loud and clear. Settling down to rest after our trip to town
and experimenting, we both closed our eyes for a little while. I peeked an eye open and saw mom had dozed
off, so I quietly rose and tiptoed down the hall to the bathroom. The door wasn't all the way shut before I
heard "bing bong" and I came rushing out, tripping over my half down
pants. What is it? Oh! I
just wanted to see how well it was going to work, she said, feigning innocence
but with the most impish gleam hidden in the crinkle of her eye.
We teased each with the bing bong through the coming days,
and we used it late in the night for real emergencies. I still have the bell, I kept it, tucked away
in a box in storage. Periodically I'll
push the button to hear the muffled bing bong come up from the bottom of the
box just to remember.
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