Mom could not focus on anything, to save her life. After the “reshuffling,” as she called it, her work had doubled and the number of friends lost at her job of twenty-five years worth of dedication had tripled. The last thing on her mind was how many insurance plans and benefits statements she had to revise before four o’clock. Her stares went from the desk phone to the cell phone in her lap every minute, on the dot. Her expectations had changed; the phone calls once expected from her mother-in-law were of importance no more, and the phone calls from her daughter at college were forthcoming and inevitable. The death of her mother-in-law—her best friend—had hit her hard, and her children couldn’t handle it.
The phone calls were slowly decreasing in daily frequencies, but the content was no less important or, for that matter, erratic. From sadness to anger to hysterics, the range of emotions felt through the airwaves of electronic communication were something out of a mental hospital lunchroom. No words could soothe her child—her “young lady” was still her baby, and she needed her comfort. Words exchanged could only soothe the blows of the pain of death in the family. Not able to talk to her in person, Mom imagined her daughter’s face: the tears, the redness and the eventual smile she hoped could light up her face once again. Her daughter’s breathing was heavy and from this Mom could time how quickly the girl on the other end would well up with tears. Some calls were predictable, while others puzzled her for hours. Mom felt guilty day after day, phone call after phone call, and wondered whether or not the decision to force her daughter to continue with school was such a good idea. The phone calls played in her mind like a skipping compact disk full of elevator music—like a constant drone of buzzing bees with sobs in between the monotony.
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