What is my life? (weird night)

What is even my life right now? I will describe my evening and you will think I’m making up some wild story like something in Dumb and Dumber or Due Date or the like. My mom flew out from Alabama to help me recover from knee surgery about two weeks ago. (I tore my ACL and MCL skiing at Tahoe two months ago, on a day I wasn’t even supposed to be skiing, after 1/2 of a run down the slope. But that’s another story.)

Mom has been amazing helping with the kids, with meals, and with projects I want done around the house, that I can’t do in crutches and a brace. She knew I was hoping to finish painting the trim on my house before she and my little sister left. My sis leaves next week, and Mom leaves at 6AM tomorrow. Mom was working all day, in the heat, in a hurry, and didn’t stop for breakfast, or lunch, and not really even to get drinks or water. We had a nice dinner with friends, and she started to get a headache. Mom never gets headaches, so it was strange. We drove back home, and Mom slowly packed her bags  and loaded the car, still complaining of a headache. She became nauseated as we started the hour a half drive to Reno, where she and I were planning to spend the night in a hotel near the airport to make the morning flight less difficult. Her headache and nausea worsened, and I became seriously worried. Earlier in the day, I had one of those random thoughts in which I was thankful I still had my mom, and that she had not died young. Her strange symptoms brought back so many memories of when Trevor so unexpectedly died last fall. I got her Gatorade, checked her pulse, made her perform neurological tests, and kept driving to Reno. We got to the hotel, after one sick-on-the-side-of-the-road episode, and I hobbled inside on one crutch to check in. I requested vallet and bell services to bring our luggage to the room: just moms briefcase and my backpack. Mom hardly made it to the elevators before being unable to continue. Leaning over the trash can with eyes closed, I assumed everyone thought she had had a crazy night on the town; Reno is known for its casinos and night life. Some passerbys called security and before we knew it, the paramedics had been called. Mom was throwing up on the lobby floor, I was holding our purses and balancing on a crutch, giving her date of birth, and digging through her wallet for identification. The bellboy swung back by, realizing he would not be able o bring our bags to our obviously unoccupied room. He gestured to our two bags in the cart and told me to call him to let him know when we were in our room. The paramedics cleared mom, as her vitals were normal, and security kindly wheeled mom up to our room and to those blissful soft beds. It’s midnight. We are exhausted, but I’m so happy she is not in grave danger. I’m on the verge of tears, as the last time I was in a hotel was a heavenly two days in the heart of San Francisco with two gifted nights at the Ritz (literally). So many hotel and vacation memories with Trevor come rushing back as I look at the finely folded hand towels and plastic wrapped styrofoam cups. Oh, I miss him with my whole heart. Wasn’t here just hear (near) with me yesterday?

After mom is settled, I call the bell desk, and a bewildered bellboy asks me if I grabbed one of the bags off the cart. Of course not, I was on crutches tending my wheelchair bound mother. Well, it’s gone. Moms briefcase with some important but nonessential / nonfinancial paperwork. I’m so thankful it wasn’t my backpack with my journals and sketchbooks, which have chronicled so much of the journey since he’s been gone. But seriously? Could this night get any crazier? After 30’minutes, the same bellboy brings my backpack. I hope the car actually got parked and isn’t still running in the hotel breezeway. I’m waiting for the security manager (oh hey, you know me!) to come to our room so I can fill out  an official report about our missing bag. 

And I feel that weird buzz that something is up. Something weird is going on tonight. There are too many insults to injury, Jesus, protect us. Give me wisdom. Help me see where You are in this. Thank you for preserving my mom’s life. This other stuff seems silly and yes, laughable in comparison. She loves Trevor and she loves You, but I don’t think she’s going to hang with you guys yet. And I’m so thankful.