Lori Falce: How do you say no to your mom?

My mother called me to ask if I had plans for the weekend.

Being that it is a pandemic and there are no movies to attend or restaurants to patronize or museums to visit, no, I do not.

“Great,” she said. “I can come see you.”

It hurt to tell her that she couldn’t.

My mom is a nurse, and doesn’t so much fear germs as have a healthy respect for the danger they pose. She has worked with patients who have blood-borne pathogens like HIV and bacteria like tuberculosis. She’s dealt with drug-resistant superbugs like MRSA and C. diff.

She had four kids and has six grandchildren and has a tendency to roll her eyes at most things that don’t require stitches and a few things that do.

But I also know that she has limits. The woman who worked with a broken rib when a patient attacked her is older now. She has asthma. She fought cancer. She is exactly the kind of person who is most at risk from coronavirus.

And if she won’t acknowledge that, I have to do it for her.

I know that she misses me and craves time with her grandson. I know that being locked away from her family and missing seven birthdays and a holiday during this lockdown is like being in jail. I know she wants to reclaim just a little bit of that.

So do I.

But there are fewer cases of covid-19 in her county than there are deaths in mine. Relaxing the rules two weeks before the line in the sand Gov. Tom Wolf has drawn might not seem like a big deal, but we can’t know that yet and my mother’s life is not a currency I’m willing to risk.

So I told her no. Again. I backed it up with numbers and statistics and facts. I did my research. I had a good argument.

But I know those fall flat when you need to see someone you love.

I know that as much as she wants to see me, I want to see her. I want to sigh when she hands me her computer and asks me to fix it because I am so not the right person for that job. I want to laugh with my sisters she gets huffy over being teased. I really want a big bowl of her fruit salad, which I could make myself but tastes better when she does it.

I miss casually walking in her front door or lingering on my sister’s patio. I want my preschool niece to tell me imperiously that she is all out of kisses today, but she can fit me in for one — just one — hug. I need to see the prom gown my other niece won’t get to wear.

Saying no right now isn’t a rejection. It’s an affirmation. It speaks of all the things I want to do with the people I love and how they mean enough to me to delay them.

It says I’ve listened to everyone from the president to the governor to the doctors and scientists. It says I understand what could happen, and I know what the worst-case scenarios are.

And maybe those worst-case scenarios are long shots. Maybe the odds are in my favor. But that’s not a roulette wheel I’m going to spin.

See you next month, Mom.