It’s Five O’Clock


Yes, I took advantage of the snow, the 2 feet of snow, to do a little writing. The first piece I wrote about was a Nor ‘Easter that nearly killed good friends on Mums and how they came to stay with us after they nearly drowned in the lower level of their Drakes Island home.

It’s the second piece, however, that has left me with both perspective and a sense of loss. The piece is entitled A Case of the Blues. As I wrote about my mother’s lack of happiness trying to understand if it was depression, or sadness from a string of unhappy events combined with fears and worries, or something else I hadn’t considered, I couldn’t help by question my role. Did the things I chose to do, add to her sadness?

I would not change the fact that I left Maine and her to pursue my dreams, my life, but I wondered if I could have changed how I responded to her pain and her fear. The answer is a clear, yes. I could have been more understanding. I could have been kinder. With the things I could have changed, there was one thing I did right. Mum so desperately wanted to be involved in my life. Some would argue she lived vicariously through me. Perhaps that is true. Regardless, the truth is I wanted to share my life with her. So nearly every evening (weekday, not as much on the weekends), I called my mother around 5:00 p.m. – the cocktail hour, and we talked about our respective days.

Even now, nearly 20 years after her death, my internal alarm clock goes off letting me know it’s five o’clock – time to call Mum.


Photo courtesy of

This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s