Daylight Saving

My son and my mother the year before she died

I have been thinking about my mother. Maybe it's because daylight savings time gives us an extra hour today. This was the time of year when my mom always turned her thoughts to "going home" to warmer climes, to St. Lucia, where she last lived with my dad, or to Jamaica, to my brother. The cold weather made her bones ache. The early darkness made her lonely.

I am remembering how every evening while she was here in the city with me, I would go over to her studio treehouse across the courtyard. I'd bring or fix her dinner, sit with her as she ate, wash up, watch some TV with her, or maybe we'd just sit around the dining table chatting, and then I'd help her bathe and get ready for bed. I'd tuck her in,  perch on the edge of the bed as she said her nightly prayers, and then I'd kiss her cool forehead and take my leave. I always felt guilty as I left. She looked small and helpless in the bed, and I imagined her needing someone in the night and finding no one there. 

She liked having her own place where she could set things out as she pleased. She was still able to move around by herself then, but slowly. She was already stooped and frail. I told myself that the phone was on the nightstand, within easy reach. And I was one building away. Still. I felt the weight of making sure she was okay, that she had everything she needed, including the woman who came in three mornings a week to clean and do laundry and give her lunch. Breakfast she made herself, the same thing every morning: Oatmeal with bran and a cut up banana, a slice of toast with the thinnest smear of butter, and ginger tea. Then, for most of the day, she'd sit in her recliner and wait for me to come home from work.

I confess that some nights I didn't want to go over. I'd come home exhausted and want to just climb into bed, but even then, I knew the day would come when I'd wish for just one more night of being able to take care of her, to feel her thin arms around my neck as I said good night, to bask for one moment more in her gaze of love. 

_______

My son came home from work last night and flopped down on the couch. He wasn't very talkative and I made myself not ask how was his day. He was waiting for his girlfriend to arrive. The two of them were going out to dinner to celebrate their year and a half of being together. After she came in, and greetings were made all around, my son said, "I got in the middle of a fight today." We all gasped, which was the desired response I'm sure, and now we were ready to hang on his every word. He started telling us all about this one call they got for an EDP (emotionally disturbed person) who was hopped up on synthetic marijuana, also called K2, which is apparently a nightmarish high, and not fun for EMTs having to deal with a person crashing on it. The man was angry and violent when they arrived. He started a verbal altercation with a passerby, who was also high on something, and suddenly my son and his partner found themselves in the middle trying to calm things down. They radioed dispatch to send a cop car. 

By the time the cops arrived, the man's mood had transitioned and he was curled up on the ground, crying that he wanted his daddy. My son talked him into the ambulance at that point, and strapped him in for the ride to the ER. The cop asked if he should ride with them, which is apparently protocol on such calls. My son almost told him they'd be fine, he could go, because the patient seemed calm now, but something made him say, "Sure, hop in." He was happy he did because on the fifteen minute ride to the hospital the man rapid cycled through moods, bashing his head against the ambulance wall and kicking and flailing and yelling. The suddenly, he was weeping, and thanking the guys for helping him, then he was pissing himself, then angrily flailing at them again. My son was glad he had help in restraining him from injuring himself. 

I'm thinking I'll get way more information about my son's day if I happen to be in the room when he's telling his girlfriend about it. I'm also thinking about how that man was huddled on the street, high on K2 and crying for his daddy.