I talked with my mom for a few minutes tonight for the first time in quite a while.
Neither of us have ever felt the need to stay in constant contact, except for when I was in the army when I got my semiannual letter from her right on schedule. Of course that motherfucker would be a book, because she’d write 3-4 pages every week and would only mail it off while it could still be crammed into a business envelope. Six months later I’d fire her off a half page letter, telling her I had just gotten in from the field or was fixin’ to go, I’m fine, tell Pops I said hello and give my hound Gypsy a belly rubbin for me.
But I did call her tonight, bringing my total time of telephone talking up to 23 minutes so far this year. I’d have talked to her longer but…..
She was telling me she had to go to the emergency room last night because she was in pain from being all backed up and they sent her home with some industrial strength laxative, “You know, the kind they make you drink when you have a colonoscopy.”
Oh yeah, I know the stuff. Then she told me that she’d drank it two hours before and still hadn’t gone to the bathroom. I started laughing and told her, “Well, when you do, you’re gonna shit like you ain’t never shat before, and it’s going to come on like gangbusters.”
We chatted for about 5 more minutes, her catching me up on who’s dead, who’s dying and who’s in jail and then I swear by all that’s Holy I could hear her gulp over the phone and then “I GOTTA GO LOVEYOUSON!!!” and then click.
I’m pretty sure her laxative must’ve kicked in.