The last couple weeks have been, shall we say, eventful. Going back to teaching full-time and caring for three children with homework and soccer is exhausting. There is nothing that could unclench my jaw right now, my teeth are being ground to dust. With all that said, I must say with 100% certainty that there is one person who has had it worse than I since the start of September and that person is my one and only Mom.
It all started last Friday with a fall in the kitchen that resulted in a slight re-fracturing of her right arm. I say “re-fracturing” because this arm has never fully healed from another header she took about ten years ago. No joke, her humerus pops up whenever she does so much as reach for a glass, making simple tasks like draining spaghetti pots a challenge. So, after Dad finally got Mom up off the floor, off they went to urgent care to have a little look-see. They only tried calling one of us, gave up, and just went. I got home from work to find a note from Dad briefly explaining what had happened and where they went. All I could say was “Shhhhhhit”.
After I finally tracked them down at urgent care and got Mom on the phone, she explained that she had a “little arm fracture” and they were on their way out but were going to stop at Men’s Warehouse on the way back to have Dad’s pants hemmed. You know, because they’re going on a cruise next week so..of course.
3 hours later, the soon-to-be married 60 years couple arrived back home. Yes, three hours later. 84-year-old Mom in her sling paired with a fresh Phantom of the Opera-esque bruise on the right side of her face and 87-year-old Dad shuffling behind holding a lovely pot of bright yellow mums, I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. Why the mums, you ask? Because they had also stopped at BJ’s to pick up food and decor for the dinner party my Mom was STILL planning to throw on Sunday. That’s right, folks, a dinner party two days after a major fall. Although I strongly urged her to at least just get chinese food to make things simpler, she would not acquiesce. And cancelling was out of the question. As I helped her get comfortable in her chair that night, she said, with an ever so slight twinge of defeat in her voice, “This too shall pass. But I think I’ve been saying that all my life.” She really has.
With prep assistance and a little sweating, the dinner party was held and went swimmingly. This group of women have been having monthly dinners since 1990 something and really pull together when one of them needs support. Their dedication to one another and this tradition is truly something to behold. Strong women, strong traditions, and an even stronger bond. Although the insanity of insisting on hosting a dinner with one functioning arm did not fail to baffle me, I had to admire it. I mean, I’m 43 years younger and I would have cancelled. My friends and I debated whether or not her nickname should be “The Tank” or “The Iron Horse”. Personally, I like “The Tank” because she just powers through anything. From lung cancer to broken arms, she forges onward and always manages to look on the bright side. Then came Wednesday, a true test of her strength.
Wednesday, Mom needed to go to Macy’s to pick up some items for her cruise. Off Mom and Dad went, together, to the Hanover mall. While Mom did her shopping, Dad waited in the concourse area. “Are you Donald Paul?” a woman asked him. “Yes” Dad responded. “Your wife fell in the store and she told me to come find you.” “Oh dear” he said. When he got into Macy’s and approached the shoe section, there Mom lay on the floor in a bright red puddle. In a flurry of activity and arrival of paramedics, she was whisked away, fully conscious mind you, to South Shore Hospital. Dad could barely keep up but did his best behind the wheel of their beloved white minivan.
I had just gotten out of my faculty meeting when I got a call from Mom’s cell phone. Hmmm, I thought. I rarely get calls from her cell phone and always worry when I do. I answered knowing that I would hear a story on the other end. Dad told me about the fall in Macy’s and blood “everywhere”. “Oh my god, I’ll be right there” I said. And I literally was right there in Weymouth. Perfect timing?
Although I have birthed three children and have seen my fair share of gore, nothing prepares you for seeing your mom with a very actively bleeding head wound. I almost passed out when I detected what I had thought was a strand of hair that turned out to be a spurt of blood. My sister (who had also joined us) also almost passed out. Head wounds bleed like crazy, they just do. And when your Mom has white hair, the contrast is quite striking. Macy’s? I think the woman deserves a gift certificate at the very least.
Five hours, five staples, and a couple stitches later, the bleeding had pretty much stopped and Mom was on her way home with blood soaked hair and clothes. All I could think of was Massive Headwound Harry, a Dana Carvey Saturday Night Live skit from the 90s (Google it) and this gave me a case of the giggles. You can’t make this shit up, you just can’t.
Back at home, my sisters and I rallied around Mom to help rinse the congealed blood out of her hair and get her comfortable enough to sleep for the night. I slept like the mother of a newborn that night, waking often and checking on her when I needed to know that she was still breathing. The days after that particular fall have been a blur. She has rebounded like a champ and, as I write, is putzing around the kitchen putting things away and getting things in order for the next day and the cruise. And, yes, she is going on that cruise. Nothing, and I mean nothing, will stop this woman. The tank. I think there’s got to be something a level up from that to describe her. Thoughts?
Over the past few months, I have been blessed by all the females in my life. Through a shit storm, they have helped me come out smelling like roses and pumpkin spice. I have leaned on them and drawn from their strength. I have been lifted when I was down and chided when I get too crazy. Gorgeously flawed and desperately imperfect, we rise together because we must. How the world is not run by females yet, I do not understand. The one female that has amazed me through all of the shit storms that have been and will be is Mom. She is the definition of grit and flawed as much as the rest of us. With such a shining beacon of motherhood that I have, I urge you to repeat after her and after me--this too shall pass. Because it must and it will. There are, after all, dinner parties to host and cruises to cruise.