Today I turn 42. I have never had a problem with birthdays. I've never been one to lock myself in the bathroom and weep over getting older. I have always vowed that I would age gracefully, and I think I've done a pretty good job at not trying to pretend I'm younger than I am. So it was puzzling to me this year why I was so depressed about my birthday. Why the sulks? Why the water works? I have been unaccountably morose and philosophical about such an insignificant event. So today I took a day off to think about it.
And I think I figured it out. A couple of weeks ago, my life changed significantly. I was making dinner on an ordinary Thursday when my dad called to tell me that my mom had had a stroke. I cannot adequately describe how that feels when you get that call. There are many cliches, but I cannot capture it. It does not hit you all at once. Once the immediate news is digested, there are many after shocks. The bare bones news of tests and hospital room numbers do nothing to ease the blow. They are just facts to hide behind. They make flimsy and ineffectual emotional shields.
My mom is recovering. I hope she will recover completely, but she is struggling with basic skills. And I realize now that her struggle really scares me. It has been very painful to hear her slurred speech on the phone, and to know she is still unable to do basic things like walk and use her hands. It terrifies me to think of her that way. In two weeks I will be on a plane to see her, and I am scared, scared, scared. I am afraid I will cry when I see her. I am a big, fat, sissy, and I want to run away.
A great deal of my inner strength has always come from knowing I had a place to call home. No matter how much I messed up my own life, there were always people back home to take care of me. Here I am at 42 and I still want to be the child. I still want to be taken care of, to be cherished, protected, nurtured. Even as I pour out my heart to my children every day, I still want someone to do the same for me. And now I realize that my parents just can't do that for me any more. I should have realized that years ago, but time and distance blur reality for me. I can't run away from that fact now, no matter how far away I live.
This is not eloquent, it is not revolutionary, it is not even revelatory to most. But to me, this simple truth is rocking my world: I have to take care of myself. Because in the end, I'm all I have. And I have to take care of my husband, because he is all I have. And we have to take care of each other, because there is no knight in shining armor coming to save us, there is no savior parent waiting to pick up the pieces of the messes we create; there is no Superman, no happy ending, no simple and easy way out. I am the caretaker now. I am the savior. I am the wise old owl.
I am the adult.
And if I say it enough times, maybe I'll eventually believe it. And once that stops scaring the shit out of me, maybe I'll be able to act like one.
Well said, Maggie my friend. Wow. I'm so sorry about your Mom and I'll be thinking about you and yours. It seems like growing up is a gradual thing. I know I'm still attempting to be the grown up it seemed like my Mom was at my age. :) Heard on the radio today that our brains are still developing through our 40's and 50's. Good thing, since I could use a little more developing.
ReplyDeleteHope to see you soon for fun and frolic. Take care and happy birthday! ~ Patty
So sorry to hear about your mom. It IS hard. Hard to watch your parents decline. Hard to realize you have no more rescues. My mom died 4 days after I found out I was pregnant. Before we knew we were having twins, even. I still struggle with that. The home I grew up in has been sold to strangers. Every night, we have dinner on my grandmother's table; the one we all use to gather for holiday diners at. So, now I'm the one hosting Thanksgiving dinners, and I hope one day, one of my kids will had that table and think about all the holidays celebrated at it. But lurking behind all that sentiment and warm fuzzies, I'm scared to death. I'm it. There is nobody left to save me if I screw up. It's a hard concept to wrap your head around.
ReplyDeleteAll that rambling aside, it takes a while to absorb. Give yourself a break. Cry if you need to. Give Dave the tightest hug possible. Roll around on the floor with your kids. You're a very capable woman and I know you'll be able to cope.
Let's us SAHMs get together for coffee sometime soon, eh?