We’re all grown up but aren’t there days when we wish we had our mommies?
Our mommies held us when we were frightened, kissed our boo-boos and stood by our sick beds, wiping our brows of sweat.
We’re possibly most vulnerable when we’re sick. It’s one of the times we wish we had mom back. Even if she couldn’t fix us, somehow her mere presence made us better, even if just a little.
I’ve been sick a lot in recent weeks, and I’ve missed writing my blog a couple of times because of it. In fact, I’ve been sick a lot of my life, but too much this year. I finally decided my problems weren’t going away on their own. I took the list of symptoms to my primary care doctor Tuesday. I put seven freakin’ things on there!
I omitted one, the newest symptom, a pain in the left side of my abdomen. The doctor asked me to lay down. He felt of my hardened, bloated belly.
“Is this tender when I push?” he asked. Yes, somewhat, I said.
He decided I likely have an infection of my colon, called diverticulitis. The first and last time I had diverticulitis, I was nearly hospitalized I was so sick. I wrote out my last wishes. It was the sickest I’d ever been.
My mother had been dead two years by that time. But during her lifetime, she’d seen me sick a lot.
I remember once she called me at my home after having seen a story on the news about a possible treatment for Chronic Fatigue Syndrome. I was a grown woman, but Mom still stood figuratively by my sick bed.
She never once suggested I was anything but genuinely sick, even when fatigue interfered with my ability to take care of her. A few weeks before she died, I spent the night on the couch by her side. I managed to fall asleep, but hours after her.
“I tried to wait as long as I could to wake you up,” she said. She needed help with the bathroom.
I haven’t been sleeping well again. One night, I cradled a heating pad to my stomach most of the night. I slept in shifts. I woke with a light sweat. Cooled off. Slept. Woke. Cooled off. When morning arrived, I stood and looked over at the dresser. Something had caught my eye.
It was the framed photograph of Mom and Dad that I’d brought from their home to mine a few weeks earlier. I still wasn’t used to something being at that spot on the dresser.
And so there she was (in a way) – Mom by my sick bed.
I felt a peace wash over me. I knew I wasn’t alone. And I didn’t felt quite as badly as I had the moment before.
I want to hear how your mom (or dad) helped you during illness. What did they say or do that helps you still today?
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