Yesterday was not a good day. Among my circle of friends: one’s father died, one’s mother had a heart attack, one’s father had a minor stroke, and one’s mother was recovering from brain cancer surgery. And I really don’t have THAT many friends. It was just a really bad day, and it was just beginning.
Then my 10-year niece (who is away at sleep-away camp with my daughter) was taken to the hospital because her heart was racing (120 to 130.) My husband decided to drive the three-hours to the hospital with his sister, so she wouldn’t have to make the drive alone. And yesterday was my niece’s tenth birthday. I was wiped out with worry and concern.
Then the power went out in NYC, where my 15-year old son Matthew is visiting uncles. And he couldn’t be reached via land line or cell line. It might have been my already distraught state, but I kept seeing images of him trapped in a subway train (Might he be alone? Traveling from one uncle’s to another?) In all that heat and humidity and …..
At 6pm EST his cell phone suddenly works, and Matthew calls to tell me he’s fine, he’s with his uncle, they had been in a high rise in midtown NYC, but they are down now and they have water bottles. Good. I’m relieved. Their plan? To walk back to the apartment in Brooklyn.
Next, the doctors release my niece (her heart rate’s down to about 100.) And so, her mom and uncle (my husband) return her to friends waiting for her at camp. A temporary sigh of relief. She’s not in immediate danger, and her heart looks fine. But what was this about?
Three, four, five hours later. I’m worried again. I can’t reach my son. I wonder if he is sleeping on a park bench. Again I leave messages on cell phones and land lines. My husband leaves a message “Call ANYTIME.”
This morning Matthew calls. They are fine. They got back to the apartment in Brooklyn last night. Why didn’t he call? “Because it was late in California.”
“But I was worried,” I reply.
“But I had already told you I was fine.”
“Yes, and I was greatly relieved to hear that you were fine. But then, hours later, I was worried again. We are parents. We worry. We can’t help it.”
How do you explain to a 15-year old that the usual rules of telephone etiquette (“don’t call after 9pm”) don’t apply when:
1) you are stuck in history’s biggest blackout
2) you are fifteen
3) visiting NYC from San Diego
4) when your parents are at home …. worrying?
You can’t. Trust me, I do this to my mom all the time. Her health is bad, she probably doesn’t feel well, why call her and wake her up? A lot of people feel like that, not just kids–consider my boyfriend’s grandmother, who lay on the floor having a stroke all night and was never the same, and all because “it was in the middle of the night and she didn’t want to bother anyone.”
And, as he said, he thought you knew he was okay, so….
I read your story and it made tears form!! I really like what you are doing! As a mom I worry about our only son all the time he is away!! It is so hard not too. My neice has two little boys now but at the time; I was sending my son to preschool I cryed!! She did not understand untill it was her turn then the table was turned!! She now knows what it is like to be a mom and just how much it takes to be a mom!! I would not change a thing about being a mom!! I just wish this world would change for the better!! Some day we will live in peace!!! Keep doing what you do and we will keep on reading!! Thank you so very much for your time!!!!! You are avery speical person!!!! Bless you
I think our kids are incapable of understanding how we worry. My son has always been like this. He knows he’s okay, so I should know, too. He, a California boy like your son, was in New York for the blackout and walked home to his apartment in Brooklyn. (“It was like a peace march or a demonstration, Mom, only there were no songs or chanting.”) He is married now and knows to call his wife so she won’t worry. But his mother? No. We’re supposed to know. I don’t think that, until our kids become parents, they can understand how we carry our children in our hearts always.
I’m glad it has all worked out and can ONLY imagine the feelings you had that day. I second the comments about *so* enjoying your journal entries. Your comments about your son phoning home brought tears to my eyes. Life is so precious but we don’t realize it often enough or until it is too late. Thanks for all you do!
I just love reading your stories of the adventures with your family! You’re so NORMAL!