I’m not writing this for pity, nor for cries of “Poor Rebecca!”, nor, even, for anyone to come rushing to my aid. I am writing this for catharsis, and to whine.
I had a terrible day today. Terrible. Awful. Absolutely the Worst in Recent Memory.
First of all, my mother left. I knew it was coming. I knew it would be bad. And it was. Everywhere I looked, I was reminded of her being here, of her doing things for me, for Bill, for the children, of the ways she served and helped us. I pulled down my bedclothes to take a nap, and there was the pillow she left for me to prop my foot on, and the sheets she had changed. There was the cup on my bedside table that she had brought me water in.
And with the cup there is the ever-present reminder that I cannot carry water to my bedside for myself. That would require hands, and mine are otherwise occupied in helping me walk.
It wasn’t so bad at first. The children set the breakfast table, the children cleared the table, the children put their dishes in the dishwasher. Homeschooling went fine, except for Everett’s complaining, and as I was already sad from the departure of my mother, and already tired because that’s what a severe concussion apparently does to one by, say, 9:30 in the morning, I was Impatient with his complaining. He spent a good thirty minutes alone in his room, and recovered nicely.
But fatigue had set in, and when I learned at 10:38 that my childcare, which was set to begin at 11, was not going to occur at all due to my dear friend’s stomach bug, I tried hard not to cry. I was unsuccessful, and broke down in serious tears while sweeping the kitchen floor (I have been loaned a clever apparatus that acts like a peg-leg and allows me to use my hands; I am very unsteady with this, as I just got it yesterday). This was mildly distressing to my children, a fact I found distressing, and so regained my composure.
I realized that Some Sort of Alternative Activity would be required by the children. They had planned to go out, I needed to rest, and a diversion was necessary. So I made some calls, and found some gracious and kind help, which resulted in my having precisely one half hour alone in the house. I napped anyway, when Emma Grace did (and I’ve told you the difficulty that arises from that), and then lured her out of sleep with candy, as her friend was coming to get her.
She wasn’t thrilled about waking up, wasn’t happy about my braiding her hair, was unwilling to fetch her socks from the basement. I was insistent and still tired (even though I had slept for about 45 minutes), and somehow lost my footing when walking out of the bathroom, which resulting in my slamming my broken foot on the floor on my way to slamming my rear-end on the floor, resulting in my crying again. Hard.
The tears were still all over my face when Emma Grace’s friend and friend’s mother arrived, and of course I couldn’t hold it in, which means that I ended up bawling while they were here, and bawled even more loudly after they left.
And then my plans to get William to his choir practice (their musical, in which he is singing a duet and doing a dance, is next weekend) completely fell through, so that I was calling people nearby who might be able to help me, leaving messages on their answering machines that I really hoped didn’t sound like I was crying. Which I was. He never made it to choir practice.
On top of all this, I had several somewhat panicked (with good reason) phone calls from my dear mother-in-law, who learned today that her health insurance ended two weeks ago. So she is scrambling to get out of rehab (which she is physically ready to do, thank God), and I am wondering How in the World this will happen, since for the next three days there will be No One Busier In The World than my husband, and I can’t drive (have I mentioned that I’m an invalid??).
And, of course Wednesday is Bill’s extra-busy-extra-late night, so he wouldn’t be home for dinner, that witching hour, as it is called, and wouldn’t be home to help with bedtime, and wouldn’t be home Any Time Soon so that I could cry into his comforting shoulder.
But, Rachel came for dinner, which was provided by the very same friend with the stomach bug (Bless Her!), and the children set the table and put their dishes in the dishwasher. I got to hold Baby Levi and almost make him laugh, and sit on the sofa with my foot up while Rachel swept my kitchen floor. And we had decadent dessert and she helped me clean my office (which is what she appropriately calls my coffee table, piled as it is with pens, my laptop, notecards and address books, and all the paraphenalia of my convalescence). And of course she was Sufficiently Compassionate, and reminded me that I am having a Hard Time, and that we are fortunate to weep when our mothers leave, because we love them, and they love us so well.
And now I am going to bed, confident that tomorrow will be better. Because how can it not be? And because my mother told me before she left that every day I will feel better. She knows about these things.
Thank you for EVERYTHING, Sweetest Momma. I love you so.
