I opened the front door on Saturday and the slight chill in the air stole my breath. Yet, I kept going. I wanted to see my mother in the hospital, with my own eyes, to know how she was recovering from surgery.
My friend Jay offered to go in my place on Friday on his day off. But, I thought with more rest I could go.
I made it down my 12 front steps. I was winded. My lungs burned. Clear mucus flowed from my nose. The cold went through the flap on my hat and caused a pain to shoot through my infected ear canal down my neck. Defeated, I turned and hurried back in the house. I pulled my phone out of my pocket at texted my mother that I couldn’t make it.
I apologized profusely as she reassured me that my health was/is paramount. Then she wrote:
“I know you would be here if you could but seriously, if you are not feeling any better don’t try to get here. Trust me. I am fine so no need to hurt yourself trying to get here. I appreciate it but it is not necessary. xoxoxoxoxo”
I cried for hours, cursing my body that’s weaker than I want it be, and eventually passed out. When I woke up on Sunday morning, my little brother called to check on me. He said my mother told him I was ill. He also said he was going to visit her.
A few hours later, I noticed I had incoming Facetime call. My brother had taught my mother how to use the tablet he gave her so we could check on each other. She looked healthier than I thought, even though she learned she’d have to stay there longer than anticipated. And, I was somewhat relieved. But, I was even more determined to get to her in person.
When I hung up, I was thrilled that I was weeping to make room for joy to enter. The joy of knowing that with patience, strength and faith we will both get better.
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