Visit Your Mother

There’s so much you can do on your bike:

• Go for coffee
• Buy groceries
• Ride to school
• Commute to work
• Visit your mother

It was my best offer — I would join my sister who was visiting from Portland and go see my mother in San Diego.

It was my birthday and I had few other offers, you could say this was my only offer, as my wife was on the east coast for a high school reunion and my boys were off being boys.

I had another reason to visit. My mother had been feeling anxious and lonely since my father died just 3 weeks ago; they’d been married for 60 years and one thing everyone would observe about my dad — he was devoted to my mother. Mom’s too frail to travel, so I had pictures to share from the funeral in Boston. This would be my first visit since he died, long over due, but I felt so fatigued; the many trips to San Diego over the past few months were tiring and doubly challenging for a bicycle advocate — all that wasted time in the car, sitting in traffic, burning fossil fuels — it caused me to ponder the environmental cost of dying, especially as the whole extended family flew home for the services, home as in the past tense, if there is tense with nouns. All the siblings except one live here in California. So as I contemplated the drive to National City on a Sunday, a round-trip drive, I was a little disheartened. As I often have, I thought of throwing my bike in the trunk. My Brompton folds up so small; I can fit two in the trunk, plus luggage, so I would do that again even though I couldn’t picture myself riding around the assisted living facility. Then I thought of taking the train.

Remember my not-so-successful 4th of July train and bike excursion? Since much of the grief from that trip had to do with the anxieties of traveling with the family, I was quick to think taking the train from Irvine to San Diego with the bike would be easy. It was. But first I had to jump out of bed and make a reservation. Could I make the 8:20am Surfliner? At 6:40 it seemed like I had plenty of time, but I would grab my ticket from the station agent just as the train was pulling into the station then run with the folded bike in one hand and my computer bag in the other. Next time I think I’ll ditch the computer; it’s a short ride and the scenery is first rate, and isn’t the idea of taking the train wrapped up in a little self indulgence? A little bit of luxury? I didn’t think twice about the $12 upgrade to Business Class. I was off.

It’s funny how a little advance preparation comes in handy. Although I never used it, I had previously download the SDMTS trolley car iPhone app; the Blue line stops right next to the Surfliner track, they’re so close together I walked past it and had to turn around and go back. In the 4 minutes I had to wait for the trolley I purchased a $5 all-day pass.

Getting the bike on the trolley was a bit trickier; there’s no overheads for luggage, no assumption anyone will board with a bike, no matter how small. I found an out of the way spot in the middle of the car and settled in; it would be 10 stops to my exit.

National City is what you call a blue-collar community. I’m sure it attracts people for the jobs in the shipyards. There can be a lot of traffic, so I was concerned as I began the actual bike ride leg of this journey. Not to worry, the roads leading from the trolley stop were relatively quiet and as I moved north a block, even quieter. It was a flat, peaceful 3 mile pedal to my destination.

Previous visits with Mom had been difficult. She can’t complete a whole sentence most days, so the conversations are one-way for the most part. My sister decided to take her down to the cafeteria for tea and we found a table under an umbrella on the patio. I was relaxed, sitting outdoors after my short but invigorating ride; I was ready to show her the photos from the funeral. Maybe it was the emotional content of the imagery, who would doubt that? But as I’ve done before, I handed her the iPhone with the photos, one at a time, today she seemed upset at seeing my finger prints on the screen and spent more time wiping the phone on her sweater than actually looking at the pictures. An avoidance technique, I imagine.

I told her I had a surprise. The night before I jumped out of bed at midnight to go looking for it. Where had I filed away my eulogy to my father? It wasn’t filed, it was in one of my piles. I packed it in with my computer so I could read it to Mom.

Now it’s one thing to stand in church and face the gathered mourners and it’s entirely different one-on-one with your mother I discovered, but as I paused a few times to catch my breath and compose my emotions I read her my eulogy — my favorite and funniest memories of my Dad.

Later, when I’m back at the train station, my brother called to wish me a happy birthday. When I told him that when I write a speech I’m always looking for additional audiences, he asked, “do you think she understood?” She focused all her attention on what I was saying; I think she understood.