The Importance Of Letting Your Kids Know What's Going On (And A Plea To The Government To Turn The Lights On)

Long title, I know. Sometimes I just cannot make up my mind.


Last night the husband woke me up in the wee hours of the morning. After about fifteen minutes of debating the pros and cons of staying at home or going to the hospital, we chose life (somewhat exaggeration) and headed to the emergency room. I wondered aloud if we should wake the kids and tell them what was going on. Keeping in mind that our three are in their mid-to-late teens, with one on the verge of escaping the teenage years, he said to let them sleep. As we went out the front door and I climbed behind the steering wheel, I once again said, "I think I'll run back in and tell [the oldest]." With a face distorted by extreme pain, he shook his head no and simply said, "Drive now. Text later." And so we went.

Downtown is confusing enough to me in the daytime. Drape it with the cloak of night, and it becomes extremely confusing to this former one-stoplight-town kind of girl. The homeless wander in bigger numbers and the curbs- especially the curbs by the local hospitals, become crammed with people who, for whatever reason, have no place to lay their head (or choose not to). Add to the mix a government facility that is evidently saving money by shutting the lights off at night, and you have an one frustrated woman and one hurting man. By the time we located the dimly lit emergency room doors of the VA, that woman was on the verge of tears and that man could barely walk.

And somewhere in the midst of all that my phone rang.

It turns out at least one child heard the front door open and shut while another child heard the muffled groans of their dad. Not knowing what was going on, they woke up the other child and quickly discussed the possibility that something had happened to their parents. Now, you can blame their thinking on television or movies or the nightly local news, but the three of them put into action a plan that the husband has drilled into them in case they are ever in any doubt of their safety or those around them. I won't go into the details because then I might have to endure a lecture pertaining to the concept of a need-to-know-basis, but it goes without saying that he has prepared us all in the event of any unwelcome trouble in our home. I'm not saying it's a perfect plan, but it is a plan.

So anyway. The phone rang with a voice of panic on the other end. I assured them that we were all right, with the exception of their dad who was in the process of being whisked away in a wheelchair. I, in turn, received a brief lecture by at least two out of three kids informing me of the importance of letting them know what was going on. I couldn't have agreed more.

In the end, the husband was taken care of and the kids proved that they have paid attention to everything their dad has taught them and brainstormed some practical suggestions of their own to add. As he was falling into his drug-induced sleep, I told him that very thing.

"Good kids," he said. "We have good kids."

Amen to that.





Psst... it was kidney stones, in case you were wondering.

Worth The Read (the book; not this post)

I have spent the last few days drifting between the couch and my bed, with the inevitable stop of the kitchen in between. The husband may think he didn't give me much for my birthday, but the truth is, he gave me a lot.

A whole lot of what I didn't want.

His cold.

Oh well. Seems like I can count on a couple of severe colds throughout the year anyway. I don't think I caught them nearly as easy when I was spending every weekday in a classroom.. must have been all those kids increasing my resistance or something. I ran out of kleenex earlier in the week and resorted to carrying around a roll of toilet paper. Thankfully, the daughter presented me with a three-pack of tissues yesterday. Surely this nonsense of not feeling well is on its way out the door.

I would be lost without a book to read, especially when I'm confined indoors. If you haven't heard of this one, I cannot recommend it enough:

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand

I'm nearing the end of the story and I've had to slow down my pace; it's one of those books that I just hate to see come to an end and I can see myself re-reading it many times to come. Personally, I think this one should be required reading of every high school history class. It would take Veteran's Day to a whole new level, I can tell you that.

I do know it's been the perfect companion for this week.

A whole lot more better than the nose spray.

So This Is What Happened

One week ago today, the parents arrived shortly after the noon hour. Many happy hugs were exchanged and many wrapped presents were unloaded. We sat. We talked. We admired the Christmas tree. Around five o'clock that afternoon, I fired up the grill and exactly one hour later, set the table with pork chops and baked potatoes and steaming biscuits. We ate and talked and laughed and worried... my mom wasn't feeling good, but after a fifteen-hour drive with a short stay in an unfamiliar hotel, who could blame her? I helped her with dishes (and can I just add how much I enjoyed that?) and her next stop was a place on the couch to rest.

And then the stop after that was the emergency room at the hospital.

By one in the morning on a damp Christmas Eve, I had the most unfortunate experience of leaving my mother in a cramped hospital room approximately nine hundred miles from her home. I had planned on staying with her; my dad had planned on staying with her; but by the time we saw the room they had set her up in for observation, we both knew there would be no staying. I'll add walking out of that hospital to one of the hardest things I've ever had to do. I'm sure staying in that hospital was one of the hardest things she's ever had to endure. It was a lousy start to a much anticipated visit.

We were back at her side in the morning- at least the part of the morning where there is light, and spent the entire day waiting for somebody to enlighten us on what was taking place in or around her heart. Supper was being served when she was told she wasn't going anywhere until some test or other was performed. Another heart-breaking experience. My dad and I headed back to the house to inform a now discouraged household that Granny wouldn't be with us Christmas morning. We vowed to dress up at least one kid like Santa and take presents to her and most of all, Smile! when we visited her the next day. For the second time in two nights, I cried like a baby in a dark, quiet room while the husband repeatedly apologized for moving us so far away.

Somehow, Santa Claus still managed to stuff some goodies into the three stockings of three teenagers in the midst of all this and we all prepared the next morning to spend our Christmas Day in that cramped hospital room. I was just stepping out of the shower when the husband peeked around the corner and said, You're mom called and said to come get her. I hurriedly halfway blow-dried my hair and had just sat down to my vanity (aptly named as the place to apply makeup) when the thought occurred, Who needs makeup at a time like this? Walking out of my bedroom to a now smiling family, I jokingly told my dad, Not one word about how I look, and we were out the door and in her hospital room within thirty minutes.

And by noon on Christmas Day, we were all gathered in our living room opening presents.

Only nobody really cared about the presents anymore.

The best present was sitting in a chair and helping me with dishes once again later that night

So what happened? Not a heart attack, but a heart out of whack. Something new decided to present itself that Sunday evening. That something will be checked out more thoroughly by her own doctor back home and hopefully, with medication, that something will be kept under control and finished with interfering with her life... especially when it comes to messing up her time with grandkids.

They hit the road just a little over an hour ago. The oldest and I stood on the front porch and watched until their taillights faded into the darkness of the street. I shut the door and turned the lock and let the tears fall.

Today is my birthday.

Dear Kids,

I am done.

I am walking away from the dishes and the laundry and the ever-meowing cat. You may feel neglected. You might feel abandoned. You will most likely have an array of mass-confusing thoughts.

It will be okay. Do your chores. Try to smile at one another. Tell your dad I've gone AWOL. I promise the sun will still shine tomorrow. Life has a way of moving on even when the mom is not cooking dinner.

I'm going into that dark place with the help of liquid gold in a bottle. To be honest, I don't know when you'll see or hear from me again. I'm afraid you'll just have to be patient.

And bring me chicken noodle soup around six o'clock.
Orange juice with a straw (the flexi kind) would be nice.
A homemade card with a poem might cheer me up.

Anything to make a mom feel better.
Just leave me in peace.
And save your questions for later.

Now leave me alone.

I mean,  I love you dearly.

Hugs and kisses,
Mom