Muddled Thoughts
Well, here we are on the eve of Mama Opp's surgery. I'm sitting in a pristine fancy-pants Starbucks (no crumb-covered counters HERE, thankyouverymuch) attached to my mom's fancy-pants office building (very Lockhart-Gardner, I told her) in downtown Seattle.The day is clear--sunny! in Seattle!--and cold. The Sound is gorgeous, the Space Needle is poking through the skyline, and lord have mercy, I'm reminded how much I love this city.
I plan to spend the morning writing, since when else will I have a child-free, wide-open day ahead of me? But I find my thoughts distracted. Mom's surgery is tomorrow, and now that I'm WITH HER, it's much more real. She's nervous. Which makes me nervous. So far, my role has been providing comedic relief, which seems to be working, because she has laughed at every single one of my jokes. We all have our purposes.
This is also Chris and my 7-year anniversary, so my brain is full of thinking how far we've come in 7 years, particularly the two little girls we made. I'm reminded of our wedding and particularly the morning after, when we lazed around the hotel and the explored downtown before taking off for our honeymoon.
And then, of course, tonight I'll crawl into my childhood bed.
I never know whether I'm grown-up or kid when I come to Seattle. I haven't lived at home since high school, not even summers in college, and I come home relatively rarely. So I feel very kid-like when I come home, because I so clearly associate this place with my childhood/adolescence/teen years--- though admittedly, I've been a little blocked from that during the last few trips that I had little ones with me. Nothing says "grown-up" like your kid running in her footie pajamas down the same hallway you ran down in your own footie pajamas 30 years ago. But being here without kids---well, honestly, I got a bit of a jolt when I remembered them this morning. Oh, yeah. I'm a mom. Well, I guess I don't have to eat my vegetables tonight if I don't want to.
This post utterly lacks a cohesive theme or organized thoughts. Sorry. But like I said, my thoughts are all over the place.
I hesitate to write THAT honestly about tomorrow, because I know Mums will read this. And though we're very optimistic all will go well, pathology will prove she can kick this cancer's ass, and even her blood (she's a BIG clot risk) is being closely monitored . . . well, shit. I'm scared. And it's scary seeing your mom scared---the woman who gave you life, nursed you, raised you, protected you, loved you. Seeing vulnerability in a parent just sucks. I don't know if I feel this a tad more acutely because I'm in the context of my childhood where mom is still a superhero grown up and I'm the kid, or if this is the natural course these sorts of life events take. I wouldn't know--I've never done this before.
In the meantime, my mom's friends--all of them--have been amazing and supportive. While my dad was in South Dakota, my mom even came home to the sweet neighbor blowing the sludge of leaves off the driveway because "You have enough to worry about right now," she was told. Mums had a sleepover recently (yes--my 60-year-old mom does sleepovers) and had a ball. So, I can't put words in her mouth, but I'm pretty confident she's feeling the love.
So. Tomorrow is the half-dreaded, half-looked-forward-to November 18. There's really nothing left to say than GO! MOM! Let's kick the cancerous ass of those evil little cells.
I plan to spend the morning writing, since when else will I have a child-free, wide-open day ahead of me? But I find my thoughts distracted. Mom's surgery is tomorrow, and now that I'm WITH HER, it's much more real. She's nervous. Which makes me nervous. So far, my role has been providing comedic relief, which seems to be working, because she has laughed at every single one of my jokes. We all have our purposes.
This is also Chris and my 7-year anniversary, so my brain is full of thinking how far we've come in 7 years, particularly the two little girls we made. I'm reminded of our wedding and particularly the morning after, when we lazed around the hotel and the explored downtown before taking off for our honeymoon.
And then, of course, tonight I'll crawl into my childhood bed.
I never know whether I'm grown-up or kid when I come to Seattle. I haven't lived at home since high school, not even summers in college, and I come home relatively rarely. So I feel very kid-like when I come home, because I so clearly associate this place with my childhood/adolescence/teen years--- though admittedly, I've been a little blocked from that during the last few trips that I had little ones with me. Nothing says "grown-up" like your kid running in her footie pajamas down the same hallway you ran down in your own footie pajamas 30 years ago. But being here without kids---well, honestly, I got a bit of a jolt when I remembered them this morning. Oh, yeah. I'm a mom. Well, I guess I don't have to eat my vegetables tonight if I don't want to.
This post utterly lacks a cohesive theme or organized thoughts. Sorry. But like I said, my thoughts are all over the place.
I hesitate to write THAT honestly about tomorrow, because I know Mums will read this. And though we're very optimistic all will go well, pathology will prove she can kick this cancer's ass, and even her blood (she's a BIG clot risk) is being closely monitored . . . well, shit. I'm scared. And it's scary seeing your mom scared---the woman who gave you life, nursed you, raised you, protected you, loved you. Seeing vulnerability in a parent just sucks. I don't know if I feel this a tad more acutely because I'm in the context of my childhood where mom is still a superhero grown up and I'm the kid, or if this is the natural course these sorts of life events take. I wouldn't know--I've never done this before.
In the meantime, my mom's friends--all of them--have been amazing and supportive. While my dad was in South Dakota, my mom even came home to the sweet neighbor blowing the sludge of leaves off the driveway because "You have enough to worry about right now," she was told. Mums had a sleepover recently (yes--my 60-year-old mom does sleepovers) and had a ball. So, I can't put words in her mouth, but I'm pretty confident she's feeling the love.
So. Tomorrow is the half-dreaded, half-looked-forward-to November 18. There's really nothing left to say than GO! MOM! Let's kick the cancerous ass of those evil little cells.
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