We were watching football. If I remember correctly the Giants were facing off with the Cowboys in some kind of historical game. I know this because the friends’ home we went to were Cowboy fans. Die hard Cowboy fans. My husband, the only Giants fan in the room. He’s a big guy, he can handle it with no problem.

I didn’t expect any kind of major event that night. I mean other than this Roman sized contest on the t.v. But I looked at my phone and my brother had been trying to call me for the last two hours. About eight times! Finally a text came through and I felt the phone buzz next to me on the HUGE beanbag chair I claimed for my nap during the game. “Hey, Mom had a stroke, going to Kaiser. Call me!”

The shame I felt after this one night took years to fade. I had no feelings. It was almost a numb and heartless moment of nothing when I read those words. So I called, no answer. Called again, no answer. Texted my brother, “where?”. a few minutes later he called and told me the great news. Mom had a small stroke and it seemed that she was recovering well. They just left her for the night and she was looking forward to being home for Christmas.

I told him I wasn’t going to drive the 90 minutes to see her. I would see her tomorrow. Another shameful moment. I was just so tired of leaving fun things and places because my dad had “stroke” only to find out he was “not really feeling well” and needed attention. My mom on the other hand didn’t make dramatics. But for the last three years, Dad had gone into the hospital on Christmas Eve and my mother, myself and my brother would be sitting in the waiting room of the ER or at their house. It was just the beginning of a long, long winter. December 22nd, 2019.