the call that changes

A mid-week night,  my cell phone beeped
Three missed calls in an hour and messages to hear
Dialing the voicemail, mom's voice alright
hurried and desperate
something's not right.
Figuring it was more of the usual
the mother who feels all alone
her psychosis that comes and goes
and when it comes, she's on the phone.
She answered, voice shaking, hoarse with tears
and the words she uttered
reached through time and space
to the core of my childhood fears
24 trips around the sun I've made,
some with her, some without
and in the moment that she told me
my gut turned inside out.  My knees turned to jello
and I sank to the floor
woman turned to child in me
I didn't want to hear anymore.
I wanted to retreat to make-believe
where bad things didn't occur
at least not to good people...
at least not to her.
My mom is less than perfect
she may not have done everything right
but she's still the one who gave me life,
who boosted me when I was down,
did her best without my dad around,
who always knew just what to do when the
bogeyman stopped by at night.
Foolishly, I felt she'd always be there
but now we're not so sure.
So as she tearfully gives me the details of her will,
and directives for her care
I ache and ache because the life she gave me
keeps me here instead of there.
The future is uncertain though I hope for the best
I can't imagine life without her
in an I-don't-want-to-you-can't-make-me
sort of way.
I find that child inside of me begging mom
to please, please, PLEASE stay.
Wishing we could wake up from this nightmare
we all share, that everything was all just fine
and the cancer was not there.