The third time was almost the deal breaker.
“I’ll be there a little after 1:00 AM,” turned into another round of “Where’s Jeff?”
I paged. I paged. By this time, I had his cell #, so damn-the-expense, I called. I called.
I started to panic. I paged. I called. I finally full-fledged panicked, and called his mom.
I even called his work dispatcher, and then asked the dispatcher for his brother’s #.
Then, I went another round of pages and calls, sick with imagining the worst.
At 5:30 AM, he called me.
He said his Mom had called him and woke him up … in a gas station lot…again.
Angry didn’t convey concern, but it’s where I went. I told him not to come; to just go home, and hung up on him.
He called. I answered and told him to stop calling because my Mom was still sleeping. I hung up, again.
He called again. One ring in, I picked up and hung up.
My mother shuffled into the living room to ask what was going on. She thought my Dad might have been trying to call from the hospital.
I explained it wasn’t, and what the problem was and what my final words had been. She told me to call him back, and say it was ok to come. I said, “Not happening.”
“Jod,” she said, “I asked Jeff to come get you this weekend so you could get a break from going to the hospital almost every night and taking care of me. I need some alone time, too!”
“It’s too late now,” I told her. “He’s on his way home. Maybe, if things work out after this, we’ll be able to do something next weekend.”
I was still angry, but starting to feel terrible. He was trying to get here as soon as possible, but like I’d told him before, sleeping in parking lots is not a good idea, and if you’re that tired, you should just stay home, anyway.
My mother was very upset with me, as was Jeff. I know this because, as she had her hand on the knob on her way out to the hospital at 6:30 AM, my doorbell rang. So, she opened it.
I was standing to the side, peering out form the kitchen galley, when Jeff marched in and exclaimed, “I’m sorry! It won’t happen again! I’m not going home! ”
My mother left and Jeff stayed.
“You don’t have to be so upset,” he said
“Yes, I do!’” I wailed, “and I’m upset because I’m angry, and I’m angry because you did something stupid again, and I didn’t know where you were or if you were dead somewhere!”
“I’m not dead,” he said, exasperatedly extending his arms.
“I made plans,” he continued with a little stomp and a frustrated little boy pout.
I didn’t agree right away, but after I packed an overnight bag, after my tears, I figured it out.
I was angry because I was scared. And I was surely in love, because that’s what people in love do.
And then they give each other nicknames… like the one Jeff gave me.
Wort. As in, worry.
Quote for the Week:
Enjoy this Week’s Discovery Links:
What We Worry About: https://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/why-we-worry/201305/what-do-we-worry-about