My son was hurt and I wasn't the one who was notified. I wasn't the first one he wanted by his side. I wasn't the one who could make him feel better just by being there. I am "just the mom."
He has a wife now. She is his next of kin. She's the first one he called, the one he asked to call everyone else. She's the one who will give him his meds and make him soup and make sure he has enough blankets and pillows and take him to doctors' appointments, and watch him sleep.
That's how it's supposed to be. That's how this marriage thing is supposed to work. That whole 'leave and cleave' thing talked about in Genesis.
But every time I think I have this parenting thing figured out, along comes something new that throws all my Professional Parent confidence right out the window.
My husband put it this way in an early morning email this morning:
When you're young, so much is new territory, I think it's just taken for granted that there is always a learning curve and as we get older those seem to go away, until new territory is entered again.
I am definitely out of my comfort zone in this new territory.
Here's what I know being "just the mom" doesn't mean:
It doesn't mean I won't think of him the first thing when I wake up and the last thing before I go to sleep. Or that I won't wake up during the night wondering how he's doing and if he's getting any rest. It doesn't mean I won't be thinking three steps ahead of what they're doing now regarding bills and insurance and follow up appointments, even if I don't share all of those thoughts with them. It doesn't mean I won't be wondering if this accident will set his illness off again. It doesn't mean I won't spend every second begging God to heal him and work everything out for him and show up big in his world.
And here's what being "just the mom" does mean:
I remembered when he fell off his bike and split open his chin and how all the cool guys at the hospital (nurses, techs, doctors) came in to show them their chin scars and tell him about how Han Solo even has one and now he's a cool guy like them, too.
I remembered when he got the chicken pox and even had them in his mouth and he was such a happy kid even though he was miserable.
I remembered how he sliced open his leg clear to the bone taking out the recycling the day his dad was getting back from Iraq and how we spent several tense hours in the German hospital wondering if we'd make it back in time. And how he said the shots to numb his leg for stitches were worse than anything. Except the tetanus shot he got on his behind....
I remembered how he broke his elbow flipping off the trampoline showing off for his friends. And how his little brother sat in front of the couch were he was lying and read books to him.
I remembered so very many days and nights of fear and anxiety as we watched him go from a healthy strong athlete to a sickly, weak, housebound boy who couldn't bear any light or sun or heat or life. Many nights of scary drives to the ER. Days of phone calls with doctors, visits with specialists. Nights spent sitting by his bed watching him to make sure he kept breathing. A week sitting in the hospital waiting room hoping all those machines and needles and tubes would fix my boy. Months praying and crying and wondering if this was going to be his, our, life forever.
Feeling powerless, but also powerful, knowing I was the one he wanted.
And then it did change. And he got better and he grew up and now he's a married man and no matter how hard it is for me, I know that things are the way they're supposed to be.
It doesn't mean I will ever forget all those moments. Those are mine.
And soon I'll figure out how this new territory works.
And I'm sure it'll be great, too.
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