Mama’s magnitudinal worry

Never underestimate a mother’s ability to worry.

A mama can worry and see dangers that not only exist but make up new things to worry about.

Sometimes, a mama can just overreact when there is no reason, like mine usually does.

I am 45 years old and I have to make sure my mother knows where I am pretty much most of the day.

If I don’t, she worries. And when she worries, she usually overreacts and that leads to her taking some drastic steps.

Like she did several years ago.

I was maybe 26 years old and living several hours away from her.

My then-husband was out of town, so I did what I normally did when he was gone for a weekend: made plans with my best friend and her mom.

We had a wild and crazy night planned.

First, we went to Ruby Tuesday’s for dinner, followed by going to the bookstore at the mall.

We bought some trashy romance novels and went back to my friend’s boutique on the square to look over our goodies.

While we sat on the plushy loveseats, we decided we were greatly remiss in not getting dessert. My best friend had a key to the coffee shop next door – the owner trusted her to check on things if she was gone – so we went in and got slices of Triple Chocolate Cake and Diet Cokes to negate the calories, leaving cash and a note on the counter.

Around 11 or so, we decided to call it a night and I headed home, arriving at around 11:30 to a carport sensor light on.

I nervously made my way inside to find Pepper, the evil beagle, freaking out in her crate, letting me know someone had probably been near the patio doors.

I grabbed a knife out of the butcher’s block for protection. I’m not sure why; those knives weren’t sharp enough to cut butter.

But I had my knife and decided to leave Pepper in her crate for safety purposes while I checked the house.

I picked up the phone in case I needed to call 911. I checked it to make sure I had a dial tone. I did, and it was beeping to let me know I had a voice mail, too.

After I checked the house and found it clear, I checked the messages.

There were 49.

Forty-seven were from Mama, increasing in her worry and culminating in her anger by the last one where she heatedly declared she was calling the police.

The other two were from Granny and a dispatcher with the county emergency services.

Granny’s message said: “Sug, this is your Granny. Your mama is going crazy with worry; she has smoked four packs of cigarettes and is gone to town to get more. If you are home, please call her. She just knows you’re dead. Speaking of dead, I’m pretty sure she’s trying to a-kill me with second hand smoke.”

The lady from 911 said: “Sudie, your mother has called here worried about you. Not sure how she got this number. But she is very concerned. We have not had any calls come in that fit your description, address, or your car, but we are sending an officer out just to be sure. And when you get this, if you haven’t already, please call your mom.”

The motion sensor had turned on because a deputy had been out at my house. That made me relax some.

But to deal with the matter at hand, I had to call Mama.

Mama, who evidently just knew I was dead, and was not calling to spite her, refused to speak to me when I called.

“So, you ain’t dead,” Granny said hearing my voice.

“No.”

“Well, if you was closer you may be. She would probably choke the daylights out of you. Where were you?” Granny asked.

“I was with my friends – I am twenty something years old and married, I don’t think I have to tell my mother where I am every second of the day!”

Granny snorted. “Have you met your mother? She is already as nervous a cat in a room full of rocking chairs and she gets worse when she worries. I will tell you are alive and well. But for the love of all that is holy – and if you love me at all – call her when you gonna be somewhere. She’s gonna drive me batty.”

A few days later, I was in court. Not because I had done something, or Mama had me arrested for running away as an adult; no, I worked in the judicial system at the time.

The judge looked over the calendar to see if all the attorneys were present and then he glanced at me. “Miss Sudie’s present,” he commented. I nodded.

“One question, Miss Sudie,” the judge began. I looked up at the bench. “Does your mother know where you are? We know where you are, but does she?”

I gulped. “How..?”

The judge smiled, “We all know, Miss Sudie. We all know.”
Apparently, Mama called more than emergency services; I am sure if the judge was listed in the phone book, she called him, too.

You’d think she would not want to embarrass her child but that does not stop her at all. She thinks embarrassing me is a good way to ensure I do what she wants.

The other day, I didn’t text her the second I pulled into my parking space at work and when I went in, I immediately got in a conversation before getting to my desk.

Within 20 minutes, she had called me four times, then my husband. She had called my child’s school to see if he had been dropped off. I knew the second I did sit down I needed to text her and let her know I was okay. She was, of course, frantic with worry. “I was about to call the law,” she texted back.

“You know, the more you do that, the more it reinforces her behavior,” Lamar commented later that evening.

I know. But it beats having a deputy show up at my door.

 

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The habit of worrying (10/21/2015)

“Worrying is just praying for what you don’t want to happen,” is an often used quote about worrying.

An English proverb describes worrying as being like sitting in a rocking chair; it gives you something to do, but doesn’t get you anywhere.

My friend Ginny told me when we were still in high school that worrying didn’t take away tomorrow’s sorrow, but robbed us of our joy today.

Did you catch that? High school.

I was worrying and stressing over something in high school.

I had an ulcer in 12th grade, and trust me, it wasn’t because I was worried about my grades.

“What are you so worried about?” Granny asked me one day as she snapped peas into a big metal tub.

“Everything.”

She snorted. “Everything, my tail. You ain’t got the first thing to be worried about.”

“I just feel like my nerves are worn thin,” I said.

Had Granny been one to roll her eyes, she would have. But she was not an eye roller. She was an eye bulger, however, and she bulged her eye out at me and pointed a long, green bean at me and declared for me to, “Stop it.”

“I don’t know how,” I replied.

Granny was quiet for a while, probably thinking I was a fragile thing to be so worked up as a teenager that I was on a higher dose of Zantac and Tagamet than she was.

“Let me ask you this, old gal,” she began. “Is worrying going to change the outcome?”

I shrugged. I wasn’t exactly sure what I was specifically worried about, other than I was just a worry wart in general.

“Do you worry?” I asked her.

“What good will it do?” she answered.

How could she not worry? That seemed like such a foreign concept to me – not worrying.

“You know when I should have worried?” she asked. “When your uncle was sitting on a tree stump, by himself, in the middle of the jungle of Vietnam, waiting for his platoon to come along and tell them which way to go.

“But I didn’t then and I didn’t when your mother’s one good kidney shut down when she was pregnant with you and had to have emergency surgery. The doctor said neither one of you may make it – gave you both 1 out of 100 odds.”

“You weren’t worried then?” I asked.

Granny kept snapping peas. “No. Them odds was better than the 100 percent chance you both were going to die if her kidney wasn’t fixed. I didn’t worry. I told the doctor to make her kidney work again.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to make that decision. How did you not worry about Uncle Bobby?”

“‘Cause, I knew he was going to be OK,” she said simply. “I prayed every day and told him when he left he was going to come home. I couldn’t worry about him. I just kept waiting until he came home.”

“I couldn’t have done that,” I said. “I would have gone crazy. I don’t understand how you couldn’t worry.”

Granny looked up from her lap of beans. “Then you don’t have a lick of faith, old gal.”

Maybe she was right. During the course of her 90 plus years, Granny went through a lot of things, but I never saw her really worry. Part of me likes to think it was because the old woman was so darn stubborn she knew things would work out in her favor – and if they didn’t, she was determined enough to change them.

“Now, you stop this worrying,” she scolded. “The doctor said you can’t have any of my fried chicken until you get this ulcer healed. So stop it. And I mean it.”
That was over 20 years ago. I am still worrying.

Mama is the consummate worrier, calling over the craziest things, and coming up with unimaginable worst case scenarios.

“What if the bears come into the house?”

I tell her I hope they pick up a broom and some Pledge and clean.

“What if Cole likes skateboarding and he decides he wants to be a professional one? They go up something called a pike…”

I tell her Tony Hawk has a net worth of $140 million; if Cole could make that much and be happy, I would be thrilled. It would mean my child had done incredibly well for himself and I may have done a little something right.

“What if..?”

“What if what?” I asked. “Please, stop worrying – trust me, I worry enough for the both of us. Heck, I worry enough for the world. But worrying doesn’t help.”

It doesn’t help. And I wish I could stop. It has become almost a habit – if I am not worrying about something, I wonder what is going to go wrong. I think Mama does that, too. Maybe she started worrying because she didn’t understand how Granny couldn’t.

But I’ve worried about things that never happened. I’ve worried about things that happened that worrying didn’t change. I’ve worried about things that turned out better than I thought. Worrying didn’t help. Instead, it made me not enjoy the present because I was worrying about something I had no control over.

“It may not help, but I don’t know what would,” Mama said.

I thought of Granny and what she would say.

“Then you don’t have a lick of faith, old gal,” I told her. And I knew, Granny was absolutely right.