Week 8 - A Good Friend

As I sit working on the computer, my cell phone trills a familiar little be-bop tune beside me.  Looking down I see that my mother is calling again, it's no surprise.  Let me explain, I love my mother.  She is and has been my very best friend since the day that I moved out of the house at eighteen, before that she was just my mother and it was hard to be friends with the local law enforcement, so to speak.  Usually I talk with my mom a few times a week, calls when she is driving to or from work at a private college in Tennessee.  We laugh and joke about how she has to drive slower so that her people (cell phone coverage) can catch up with her as she goes around the bend near the T&J store a few miles away from her house.  Usually we talk about what she is doing today with her nursing students, how warm it is down there, or which of my kids are sick, grounded, or performing in various plays or concerts. 

Lately however we have had a new topic of discussion, and subsequently the increase in calls.  My mother had gotten a phone call from a nursing recruiter, telling her of a position particularly suited to her skills that had come available.  While that might be exciting in its own right, the catch comes in that the job is in Portland, Maine - some 22 hours driving time from her current location.  When she initially called me she told me to sit down because she had some news.  Idiotically I immediately ask if she is pregnant, after all news of such importance as to warrent sitting down before hearing it can only be impending marriage or pregnancy, and I figured I would go for the bigger shock of the two just in case.  She laughed and I relaxed a bit, and she told me about the job opening.  Ultimately the position is wrought with circumstances and considerations that can make your head spin if you think about it for too long - having to move, selling the house, buying a new house, taking a management position again - but also being closer to family and grandchildren, moving back to Maine that has seasons and snow, returning to the coast where her sweetie Tom has worked his whole life, being able to attend grandchildren's concerts and plays, gathering for holiday dinners and celebrations.  For every pro there is a con, and then for every con there is a pro, round and round it goes. 

While my mother is my best friend, I flatter myself thinking that I perhaps am her best friend also, and in times of trouble, strife, or heavy decision making, you call your best friend for advice - thus the phone calls.  But this also puts me in a particularly delicate position.  I love my mother and I want her to move back to Maine even more than I want a Sonic to suddenly appear across the street from my house.  As a daughter I want to do the happy dance around the living room and sing "Nana's moving to Ma-ine", but as a friend I don't know thats what I should say.  If it were me, I would want my friend to give me their objective opinion on what they think would be the best thing for me to do, but it's much harder to be a good friend to your mother who is your best friend.  I want to be selfish, I want talk about the Christmas dinners we could have and the weekend trips for shopping, but I don't know if that is the best thing for her to do.  I remember many times when I have spoken about the kids or going out to lunch with the girls when she would go silent and I could feel the silent tears gathering in the corner of her eye from so far away.  It makes my heart break to think that I have upset her, and try to gloss over the uncomfortable moments with depreciating comments about rotten children or potential food poisoning.

Rembering this, during that first call I was able to keep a detached calm and ask about the pay, moving expenses, and talk about how hard it would be to sell her house in Tennessee in the current housing market.  I didn't do the happy dance and sing.  I asked about her contract at the college and the student loan forgiveness she receives for teaching there.  I wasn't planning those shopping trips and weekend visits.  I was gentle and subtle, even and considering of the pros and cons of the situation.  When we hung up, I just sat staring blankly at the television.  Hubby came into the living room and saw my face, he asked me what was wrong.  I was confused, nothing was wrong, right?  I was happy that my mom might be potentially moving back to Maine, wasn't I?  I was suddenly struck with the problem, talking to my mom I had been the perfect friend, but a terrible daughter.  What if she was calling me to see my reaction?  If I wasn't all that excited about it, then perhaps she wouldn't put much consideration to taking the position.  Now tears were rolling down my face, as I realized my mistake.  I called her back.