I’m sad to have left this blog fall at the wayside with the end of my class and the start of the Spring semester. I would like to blame it on being too busy with school work but then I’d be lying. Still, I’d like to make up for it by trying to continuing with it.
A few weeks ago I was stricken with fear. It was a Tuesday, I had just finished my first class and I stood in front of the elevator I had just walked out of on the 10th floor of Clemens, where the majority of my classes are held. I was waiting for my second class to start and had 10 minutes to spare. Because my first class is in the basement, my iPhone doesn’t receive any service prohibiting me from all messages and phone calls, etc. Ideally, during a class this is great. However, when I did get service again upon taking the elevator up to the tenth floor, I found that I had a voicemail.
At 11:00 in the morning I found it strange that it was from Mama. She knows my schedule and knows that I can’t talk until after 5:00. The voicemail announced, of course, in Spanish, that I shouldn’t be worried, but… I honestly don’t know what else it contained after that as I immediately, of course, began to worry. I did catch something Mama said, but because my Spanish comprehension is a bit limited, I didn’t understand it.
I don’t think I will ever forget that moment or how I felt afterwards. I began to sweat, I couldn’t think rationally, I didn’t know what to do. I was scared. It felt like a panic attack. After Papa passed away a few years ago, I kind of became obsessed with death. Not in a creepy way, but for a long time all I could think about is Mama and (even now I can’t even type it, but readers can pretty much get what I’m trying to say here). My entire life I have thought that she is immortal, that she will never leave me, and though I still believe it to be true, I know that she feels aches and pains. Hearing about them kill me every time. It reminds me that she’s human. That she’s 70.
More frequently she’s been complaining about the pains in her bones, I think she has osteoporosis. When I heard her say those first three words in the voicemail, I imagined the worst. I called my mom first before calling Mama, I wanted to make sense of what I heard. Either I didn’t get the word right, or I had misheard it, but my mom couldn’t interpret its definition. I think she tried calming me down as she knows how I am with Mama, but I was too focused on figuring out what the message meant to hear her. It took so much to fight back tears. I didn’t know what was going on but that didn’t stop my brain from thinking it did. Afterwards, I went directly to the source. I called Mama. I think she may have heard the fear in my voice as she assured me that everything was fine, that she had said not to worry for a reason. If I understood correctly, I believe that she had called me by accident and left a voicemail because, well, it’s what she does.
I felt better after that, but not completely. It made me realize so many things, mostly that I really need to improve my Spanish and that I can’t allow myself to jump to any scary conclusions. Sometimes I get so paranoid that I feel that Mama withholds information from me in order to protect me. Though I really don’t think this to be the case, I can’t help but feel one day it might be. I hope that day doesn’t come for another 70 years. But when it does, I know that I won’t be however miles away Buffalo is to Florida, but probably in just the next room.