Parents Aren’t Supposed To Be Sick
It is early evening Tuesday night and the house is empty. With the exception of myself and the dog this place is devoid of the clickety-clack clang, clang, clang clang went the trolley chaos of children. But it won’t be like this for long so I am trying to take advantage of the silence to write down my thoughts.
The theme to The Magnificent Seven is playing in the background and I suppose that it is appropriate in a way. Early tomorrow morning my mother is going to visit the hospital so that they can take care of an unusual issue. There, eema, I was intentionally vague so that no one knows what is happening. Ok, only somewhat vague because whomever reads this will know that you and some doctor(s) are going to spend time together.
None of the grandchildren know about this, not because it is such a big deal because we don’t really know if it is, but still they don’t know because they don’t need to know. I kind of like saying need to know because it allows me to say that only people who need to know can know about this and they don’t need to know.
I am not really nervous about this because as of right now there isn’t a reason to be. But I am aware that things can change and though I am confident that they will not, well….Let’s just say that I started this blog because when dad had his illness and almost died this place helped to keep me sane.
Life feels very different now. You don’t really want to hear this, but I took a picture of you guys on the sidelines last weekend and you looked older. It was a bit surreal because I know precisely how old you both are, but until I saw that picture I didn’t think that you actually look like you could be senior citizens. In the grand scheme of things you really aren’t that old and you are both younger than the parents of most of my friends.
So as I sit here listening to the Magnificent Seven I can’t help but remember being quite little and telling you that I wanted to be a cowboy. For that matter I remember playing a lot of games with you when I was little. Not sure if I had thought about it recently but it occurs to me that I remember quite a bit from when I was roughly kindergarten age. I remember you taking care of me when I was sick and the lunches you used to make.
I remember so many things and I realize that in these memories you are younger than am now. That seems kind of strange, because I am at least ten years older now than you were in these memories of mine.
On a side note, have I ever told you that my children think it is strange to hear me call you anything other than grandma. They once said something to me about it and I said that in spite of appearances, I was not born via immaculate conception. Nor can I say that you or dad ever treated me as if I was godlike, although there is still time to rectify that. I know, I know it is not going to happen but if I didn’t ask I wouldn’t be me.
Don’t blame me when I tell my sisters that you did indeed do this, they won’t believe it but a brother’s job is to keep his sisters in line and I dare not falter from my god given duty.
Anyway, unless things change I intend to see you when you come home from the hospital. If for some reason this turns into something other than an in and out procedure I will certainly come visit.
All that being said, I remain your little boy who is no longer so little. When did you get to be so short. 😉 Love you lots, Me.