Saturday, March 17, 2007
Chariot Driver
Ever wonder about destiny? Do you think about the statement that every hair on your head is numbered? Don't tempt fate, lest fate tempt you?
For months I had driven my mother back and forth to the Cleveland Clinic trying to get them to come up with a solution for my mother's aortic aneurism. She was too far along for conventional solutions, so anything they tried would have been experimental.
Mom was 75 years old when she learned of her aneurism. Like all of us, she wanted to live. She was not ready to die. So she signed the paperwork for the experimental procedures to begin.
She was complaining about back pain and the doctors identified it to bladder stones. They removed the bladder stones during the first week of December, 2003. Mom indicated that her back pain was gone once the stones were removed. The back pain is a symptom of bladder stones.
They had planned on scheduling Mom for a consultation after the first of the new year to discuss a procedure that may help resolve her aneurism. Mom died on December 28th, 2003.
The receptionist called after the first of the year to schedule mom's appointment and acted surprised when I told her that it was too late, mom already died.
My sister actually drove my mother to/from Cleveland on one of her trips up there. It was nice to have some help. My other siblings were indisposed, out of town, or was not willing to help out. One brother actually shared in expenses for one of the trips.
I remember during one of our drives up to Cleveland, my mother looked over at me and said, "You are my chariot driver.", which kind of took me by surprise. At the same time, it made me feel good. It meant she was proud of me and was glad to have me as her son and was a way for her to convey her appreciation for me taking her up to Cleveland and back home so many times.
After mom passed away, I used my share of the money that she left for her children to put down on a new white pickup truck. The truck was white.
The first truck I was assigned when I started to work for a trucking company, was white.
The color white was not by choice, it was fate, and I felt it was Mom's way of letting me know that she appreciated me driving her back and forth to Cleveland during her last months.
For months I had driven my mother back and forth to the Cleveland Clinic trying to get them to come up with a solution for my mother's aortic aneurism. She was too far along for conventional solutions, so anything they tried would have been experimental.
Mom was 75 years old when she learned of her aneurism. Like all of us, she wanted to live. She was not ready to die. So she signed the paperwork for the experimental procedures to begin.
She was complaining about back pain and the doctors identified it to bladder stones. They removed the bladder stones during the first week of December, 2003. Mom indicated that her back pain was gone once the stones were removed. The back pain is a symptom of bladder stones.
They had planned on scheduling Mom for a consultation after the first of the new year to discuss a procedure that may help resolve her aneurism. Mom died on December 28th, 2003.
The receptionist called after the first of the year to schedule mom's appointment and acted surprised when I told her that it was too late, mom already died.
My sister actually drove my mother to/from Cleveland on one of her trips up there. It was nice to have some help. My other siblings were indisposed, out of town, or was not willing to help out. One brother actually shared in expenses for one of the trips.
I remember during one of our drives up to Cleveland, my mother looked over at me and said, "You are my chariot driver.", which kind of took me by surprise. At the same time, it made me feel good. It meant she was proud of me and was glad to have me as her son and was a way for her to convey her appreciation for me taking her up to Cleveland and back home so many times.
After mom passed away, I used my share of the money that she left for her children to put down on a new white pickup truck. The truck was white.
The first truck I was assigned when I started to work for a trucking company, was white.
The color white was not by choice, it was fate, and I felt it was Mom's way of letting me know that she appreciated me driving her back and forth to Cleveland during her last months.
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