"Pickaway"

Today I was in a meeting at work.  My cell phone kept ringing.  The first couple of times I didn't even look to see who was calling...just turned the ringer to vibrate.  After the 3rd call within 10 minutes, I finally had the God given sense to look to see who was calling me...what on earth could be so urgent?  How rude!  Didn't people realize I am busy?

It was my dad.

The nursing home called my mother's doctor yesterday once they saw the extreme mental decline, marked increase in confusion and severe hallucinations.  The doctor came to see her early this morning and quickly saw that something was wrong...bad wrong

He ordered a chest X-ray.  Comes to find out, my mother has pneumonia and was admitted to the hospital where she is getting oxygen and IV anitbiotics.  

The call from my dad made me so sad.  I could hear the panic in his voice.  He said, "It used to be that pneumonia meant the end.  Do you think it's still like that?"  Of course I responded with "NO"!  I explained that with today's advanced antibiotics and treatment, outcomes are nothing like they used to be for pneumonia.  But I could still hear the fear and worry in his voice and the thoughts I knew were going through his mind.

For some reason an old memory popped in my head today...it has nothing to do with being sick at all...not sure why I couldn't get this off my mind.  I remember at even the youngest age...probably 4 or 5, I always felt very protective of my mother and knew that she needed to be taken care of.  I honestly remember at 4 years old, trying to mother her.  Even back then, I looked at her as my child.  My parents never had much money...they were very frugal.  Growing up I never had everything I wanted, just everything I needed.  (Which, by the way, is exactly as it should have been and should be today, in my humble opinion.)  

Every summer I would get one pair of sandals and one pair of tennis shoes.  We would get them at PicWay Shoe Store or "Pickaway" as my mother would pronounce it.  I remember loving the smell inside the store...no, probably not leather...just vinyl with rubber soles or pleather or whatever the shoes were made of...but it smelled so good to me.  I can vividly remember one summer, before I was even old enough to be in school, we went on our annual trek to get new sandals.  I quickly picked out my favorite pair and my mother took me to the checkout counter.  I remember the worry...panic...that my mother didn't have enough money to pay for the shoes.  I can recall pulling her arm as we walked to the register and whispering, "Mommy, are you sure you have enough money to pay for this?"  I knew she never ever had much in the way of money.  I don't know why I had this fear as a child...she had never gone to pay for something without enough money...but I always wanted to spare her any embarrassment.  I worried so very much about her.

I'm still worried about beautiful Jo Ann and my true and faithful Bob.