DON’T TELL MOMMA YOU HAVE THE CORONAVIRUS
By Christopher L. Chaney
Weekly phone check-ins are something I already had on the calendar with my mom. I preferred to call during my Saturday stroll running errands but she was often frustrated by the sounds of New York City in the background from sirens to the voices of people walking near me on the sidewalk. Background noise is no longer a problem for our calls since I don’t even want to leave my apartment nowadays. The city is not shut down but it’s urgent for everyone to shelter in place in order to slow the spread of the Coronavirus.
When you add a global pandemic and distance to the emotional equation, of course, the frequency of our calls have increased to a daily basis. Don’t get me wrong I love my momma. Our chats can be expansive, from metaphysics, to family member updates, to vitamin supplement recommendations, to the sites to see in Atlanta, where she now resides. As the adult middle child and oldest “boy” I could easily get away with biweekly calls, pre-Coronavirus. But when I shared that there was a chance I contracted the virus at an event because someone there, a hospital worker, has since tested positive, things changed. It didn’t help that I was nursing a sore throat -– a common symptom.
Now, not only is there this demand for a daily update but there is a concern in my mother’s voice, a worry about my life, that’s present every time we speak. So each call opens with a shrilled, “How are you?,” as if she expects me to report that I’m feverish or can’t stop coughing. Thankfully, I never had those symptoms. Well, a mild fever once. But I wasn’t going to share that fact. It was bad enough that I reported shortness of breath after going on a masked errand for water. She is never going to hear about the body aches or the heart palpitations. Well at least not until the post-Coronavirus Thanksgiving — God-willing. I quickly realized regardless of how I may feel my goal for our calls is to lessen her anxiety. Not only is my mother 76-years-old, she is the caretaker of my 92-year-old grandfather. They are the matriarch and patriarch of our family, which consist of over 40 relatives. So less is more, has to be the working rule with regards to any symptom talk.
Making sure our conversations have a healthier direction requires introducing topics that challenge her memory. So it’s now commonplace for me to jump in the way back machine and bring up incidents that happened 40 years ago. “Ma, remember that time when you gave us a beating because we (my sister and I) were arguing about who would take a shower first because there was always a water bug waiting?” These kinds of questions not only test her mind but also come with a level of shock and disbelief that adds a layer to the discussion. My mom only hit us once — well at least me.
Yet, even if I don’t go the challenge route, naturally random discussions arise that detour from the virus like how Neil deGrasse Tyson reminds her of me. It’s something about his mannerisms when he tells stories that she finds similar. I don’t see it but I’ll take it as a compliment. “Thanks Mom!” Usually we will also get into the subject of spirituality sparked by one of her readings or a recent church service she’s attended. I never take the lead in those discussions but just focus on being a keen listener. There are always nuggets of wisdom, reminders for renewing my consciousness and some affirmations for claiming all that I desire.
Consistently our calls close with the reminder that I’m on her prayer list. Of course, the prayers for my success have now been replaced with ones for being Coronavirus-free. I figure if she gives it to God at least it’s not weighing her down. That’s winning! Goal accomplished.
You see my mother and I have good conversations, often entertaining, where we both share a laugh and exchange insights and information so I’m really not complaining. But, the emotional burden of fear is not healthy for either of us, nor any of us. After learning about her second morbid nightmare where her waking thought was “I lost my son,” I wanted to say, “Put me on the prayer list.” Thankfully to soothe her soul I was able to report with full authenticity that I had no symptoms. I darkly joked that the 14 days of quarantine don’t matter it’s the fifteenth because God has a sense of humor too. My comedy verified my health for her. A mother knows her son. Now the next call can just be a conversation without the weight of the world being on it.
