When Its Not About You
Four of us roommates rented a house together. Two had been laid-off and the third had received a 20% cut in pay. I was called into my boss’ office so he could tell me he was going to have to lay me off.
My seven-month-old son was sick and having difficultly breathing. As we sat in the pediatrician’s office my son’s breathing became more and more labored until his cheeks were sunken and his eyes bugged. The doctor instructed me to take him to the hospital, immediately. My drive from the doctor’s office to the hospital, alone, except for my son struggling for oxygen in his carrier in the back seat, was surreal. (I can only imagine what my husband’s 80 mile commute was like! But in fairness, he missed holding down our son while the neo-natal nurse put the i.v. into my son’s forehead vein.)
My mom had a biopsy on calcifications found in her breast tissue. My sister and I went with her when the doctor announced it was indeed breast cancer. Most of what followed sounded like the adults in a Peanuts cartoon.
Each of these circumstances are extraordinary and scary and life changing. But I think they are trumped by the intense emotion, maturity, love, pain, and selflessness it takes to raise teenagers. Does love grow any larger than this? How can it commingle with pain so easily as if they were meant for each other? Please tell me that I will come out the other end in some state of coherency and without a police record.