A couple of weeks ago, my mom was at home.

We talked on the phone that evening, just like we do pretty much every night.

I honestly couldn’t tell you what we talked about.

Probably nothing important.

And lately, I’ve been thinking maybe I was wrong about that.

My mom is 90 years old. Calling her every evening has been part of my routine for so long that I don’t really think much about it anymore. Somewhere along the way, it just became something we do.

Sometimes we talk for a while. Sometimes it’s just a few minutes.

We talk about what she did that day. What Tammy and I are doing. Somebody in the family. Something going on back home in Tuleta. The weather. What she had for supper.

Sometimes we probably talk about absolutely nothing.

Then, on an otherwise ordinary Wednesday, she went to the emergency room with pain and swelling in her leg.

And nothing has been normal since.

When an Ordinary Wednesday Isn’t Ordinary Anymore

What started as a trip to the emergency room turned into about 33 hours of waiting in Beeville before she was transferred to a hospital in Corpus Christi.

Thirty-three hours.

That’s a mighty long time to sit around wondering what’s wrong with somebody you love.

It turned out that Mom had a serious blood clot in her leg. She needed a procedure to remove it and restore circulation.

Thankfully, that procedure went well.

But that wasn’t the end of it.

There were more tests, more scans, more doctors and more questions. At one point, they thought they might have found something concerning in her stomach. That led to another procedure and another round of worrying.

Thankfully, it turned out to be nothing to worry about.

One of the better pieces of news we’ve had through this whole ordeal.

There were concerns about her blood counts, a transfusion, blood thinners, and more medical terminology than I ever had any desire to learn.

I’ve learned quite a bit about blood clots, vascular procedures and hospital care over the last couple of weeks.

Can’t say any of it was on my list of things I wanted to accomplish this fall.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, you start measuring time differently.

You wait for the doctor.

You wait for test results.

You wait for somebody to come back from a procedure.

You wait for somebody to tell you what happens next.

You learn which elevator goes where.

You learn where the coffee is.

You learn that a reclining hospital chair was apparently designed by somebody who held a longstanding grudge against the human spine.

And you learn that good news can make an ordinary Tuesday feel like Christmas morning.

Meanwhile, the rest of the world keeps going.

People are driving to work. Somebody’s mowing their yard. Somebody’s complaining because their hamburger order was wrong.

All perfectly normal things.

But your little corner of the world isn’t normal anymore.

And it can happen that fast.

Two Weeks Ago

That’s the part I keep coming back to.

Two weeks ago.

Two weeks ago, Mom was home.

Two weeks ago, I hadn’t heard most of the medical terms I’ve heard lately.

Two weeks ago, there weren’t hospital room numbers stored in my phone.

Two weeks ago, Tammy and I were going about our regular lives, working on music, making plans, and figuring out what we were going to do next weekend.

Now we’re talking about rehabilitation facilities, selling our house, moving back to South Texas and taking care of Mom.

That’s a pretty big change in direction for a couple of weeks.

I’ve spent a lot of my life making plans. Sometimes pretty detailed ones.

And I’ve learned that life doesn’t always bother to consult them.

We spend an awful lot of our days assuming tomorrow is going to look more or less like today.

Usually it does.

Until it doesn’t.

And I don’t mean that in some dark or depressing way.

If anything, I’m beginning to see it from the other direction.

Maybe knowing how quickly life can change ought to make us pay a little more attention when it hasn’t.

Those Calls About Nothing

I’ve called my mom almost every night for years.

I never considered those phone calls particularly remarkable.

They aren’t usually deep conversations about life. There’s no background music playing. Nobody says anything that ought to be carved into granite.

It’s just a mother and her son talking on the phone.

But sitting here now, I realize something.

That’s the good stuff.

Those ordinary conversations that seem like they’re about nothing?

They’re not about nothing.

They’re about having somebody there to call.

They’re about hearing a familiar voice on the other end of the phone.

They’re about knowing what somebody had for supper, whether it rained back home, who’s doing what, and all those little details that don’t seem important enough to remember.

Maybe we’re wrong about what makes a moment important.

Maybe it doesn’t have to be memorable to matter.

I can’t tell you what Mom and I talked about on that last ordinary evening before all of this started.

But I sure am glad we talked.

Sometimes Life Brings You Back Home

There’s another part of this story I never saw coming.

Tammy and I have decided to sell our house in Temple and move back to Tuleta to help take care of Mom.

Back to the little South Texas town where I grew up.

Back to the house where I spent my childhood.

Back to the place where so many of my earliest memories were made.

I left Tuleta a long time ago. Joined the Army, went to college, built a career, lived in different places and eventually retired in Central Texas.

I’ve been back to visit more times than I could count, of course.

But I never really imagined I’d be moving back into the same house I grew up in.

Funny how life works.

When you’re young, you can’t wait to get out into the world and see what’s waiting for you.

Then, somewhere down the road, you find yourself heading right back to where you started.

Only this time, things are a little different.

The woman who spent all those years taking care of me is going to need somebody looking after her.

And I’m thankful Tammy and I are in a position to be there for her.

Mom was transferred from the hospital to Hacienda Oaks, a rehabilitation facility in Beeville, last Friday. She’s got some work ahead of her, rebuilding her strength and getting ready to come home.

Meanwhile, Tammy and I have a house to sell, a lifetime of accumulated stuff to sort through, and a move to make.

I have no idea how long all of that is going to take.

And for the first time in quite a while, I’m not particularly worried about having every detail figured out.

We’ll get there.

One day at a time.

I reckon I’m going to be a Tuleta-ite again.

There’s a story behind that name, but we’ll save that one for another day. 😂

Call Your Mom

So I’m not going to tell you to live every day like it’s your last.

Good grief, that sounds exhausting.

I’m also not going to tell you that every conversation needs to be meaningful or that you need to suddenly start telling everybody in your life how much they mean to you every fifteen minutes.

They’d probably start avoiding you.

I’m just going to tell you what these last couple of weeks have been telling me.

Call your mom.

If you’re lucky enough that she’s still here, call her.

If you’re close enough, go see her.

Give her a hug.

Tell her you love her.

Then sit down and talk about absolutely nothing.

Ask what she had for supper.

Listen to the story you’ve already heard seventeen times.

Tell her what you’re doing tomorrow.

Complain about the weather.

Laugh about something stupid.

Don’t worry about making a memory.

Just be there.

And if your mom isn’t here anymore, maybe there’s somebody else in your life who’d sure appreciate hearing your voice.

A dad. A grandparent. An old friend. Somebody you’ve been meaning to call but just haven’t gotten around to it.

Make the call.

Because a Wednesday can come along that looks like every other Wednesday you’ve ever had.

And by the following Wednesday, the whole world can look different.

The Things That Really Matter

I don’t know exactly what the next few months are going to look like.

Mom is out of the hospital now, and for that I’m mighty thankful. She’s in rehabilitation, working toward getting strong enough to come home.

Tammy and I have some pretty big changes ahead of us.

My music, my livestreams, the recording projects I’ve been working on, all of that has had to take a back seat for a while.

And that’s okay.

I miss playing music. I miss my TikTok family. I miss the familiar routine of sitting down with my guitar and spending an hour or two singing old country songs with folks who have become friends.

I’ll get back to it.

But right now, there’s something more important that needs my attention.

The same woman who listened to me learning those first few chords on a cheap old guitar all those years ago needs me around a little more these days.

And I intend to be there.

I’m thankful for every one of those ordinary phone calls I’ve made to my mom over the years.

I’m especially thankful I never waited until something like this happened to start making them.

And I’m looking forward to the day when we’re all settled back in that old house in Tuleta.

Maybe Mom will be sitting in her favorite chair.

Maybe I’ll have the guitar out.

Maybe we’ll talk about the weather, somebody in town, or what we’re going to have for supper.

She’ll probably tell me a story I’ve heard a hundred times.

And I’ll probably listen to it again.

Because I understand something a little better now than I did a couple of weeks ago.

Those ordinary days are the ones we’re going to miss someday.

So call your mom.

Give her a hug.

Tell her you love her.

And don’t be in such a hurry to get off the phone.

Because the conversations you thought were about nothing might turn out to have been about everything.

❤️