Threes.
I'm not really superstitious. Not in the general way. But my back brain harbors superstitious notions, sometimes despite my logical sense. When I'm cooking, yes, I will throw a pinch of spilled salt over my left shoulder. I don't think about it consciously, it's just something that's part of the 'cleaning up salt' routine that I don't think about until I've done it and think, "D'oh! Now I have to sweep that up."
Two weeks ago my husband got word that his mother had been admitted to the hospital. We still don't know entirely what happened, as news is filtered both through my FIL's awkward command of the English language, and my MIL's insistence on "not worrying anybody" if she can help it. But we're pretty sure she had a stroke, was treated quickly enough to mediate many of the worst effects, but she's had trouble writing legibly and won't let us visit to see her in person, so we don't entirely know how much to worry. My husband is understandably shaken by the idea that his mother, whom he's long believed was immortal, might be getting old and will someday die. I'm frustrated that there's nothing we can do to help, and have been less sympathetic than I could be with my husband's growing cognizance of his parents' mortality.
Yesterday I got word from my dad's wife that he's been admitted to the hospital again. He had his first heart attack when I was in Jr. High, so I've had a long time to get used to the idea that maybe he's going to die someday. I don't think today is the day, but his illness is still stressful. Again, I'm frustrated that there's not much I can do to help. I don't pray, so the best I can do is say: "I'll keep you in my thoughts" and hope it doesn't sound too awkward and hesitant.
But more than this, my superstitious back brain insists, "Bad things come in threes..." and is tensing up, waiting for the inevitable third. I don't need this imaginary threat building up more tension in my life. So, if you're reading this: please keep safe, take care of yourself and know that I'm hoping you are well. I don't want anyone I care about needing a hospital visit any time soon. M'kay? Good. Glad that's settled.
Two weeks ago my husband got word that his mother had been admitted to the hospital. We still don't know entirely what happened, as news is filtered both through my FIL's awkward command of the English language, and my MIL's insistence on "not worrying anybody" if she can help it. But we're pretty sure she had a stroke, was treated quickly enough to mediate many of the worst effects, but she's had trouble writing legibly and won't let us visit to see her in person, so we don't entirely know how much to worry. My husband is understandably shaken by the idea that his mother, whom he's long believed was immortal, might be getting old and will someday die. I'm frustrated that there's nothing we can do to help, and have been less sympathetic than I could be with my husband's growing cognizance of his parents' mortality.
Yesterday I got word from my dad's wife that he's been admitted to the hospital again. He had his first heart attack when I was in Jr. High, so I've had a long time to get used to the idea that maybe he's going to die someday. I don't think today is the day, but his illness is still stressful. Again, I'm frustrated that there's not much I can do to help. I don't pray, so the best I can do is say: "I'll keep you in my thoughts" and hope it doesn't sound too awkward and hesitant.
But more than this, my superstitious back brain insists, "Bad things come in threes..." and is tensing up, waiting for the inevitable third. I don't need this imaginary threat building up more tension in my life. So, if you're reading this: please keep safe, take care of yourself and know that I'm hoping you are well. I don't want anyone I care about needing a hospital visit any time soon. M'kay? Good. Glad that's settled.