She walked tenderly towards the stairs, conducting a mental inventory of the freezer and considering what would make the best ice pack for the growing bump on her knee.
She paused to scratch the puppy’s belly. “Absolutely, 100% worth it, no question,” she thought to herself as she smiled at her sweet young companion. “I’d do anything for him.”
The latest anything she was thinking about was the dive she took on the garage floor earlier in the day, simultaneously banging her face against the side of her car and both knees on the hard cement while successfully grabbing the puppy’s collar and keeping him from running into the street. The bruised knees told of a much happier story than most of the alternatives she imagined.
Her head-on collision with her Volvo’s door was the last in a series of unfortunate events that week. The day before, she’d succumbed to a bout of food poisoning she attributed to her food court lunch, a quick bite between getting the kids’ hair cut and sturdy new shoes for summer camp. She was thankful that only she was ill, not her children, thankful that her fever broke before she crawled into bed which eased her fears of getting much worse before she was any better. Who would she call if she found herself needing to go to the ER in the middle of the night with all of the adults in her family out of town? Who would come to care for two kids, one of whom could at any moment be on the verge of an ER visit with the same symptoms, and two dogs, one of whom she’d tripped over in the night which had her researching orthopedists, hoping her the relentless soreness in her shoulder wasn’t going to lead to surgery? No one else could do this. It had to be her.
She sat on the kitchen floor and wept, everything hurting at once. Wedged between the recycling bin and the cupboard, she found herself sobbing and allowed the tears to flow.
In her mind, she asked the Universe, “WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME?! Why do I keep ending up on the floor? What am I supposed to see from here?”
No answers came. The puppy retreated to his crate, and her daughter breezed by, blowing kisses and sending wishes that mommy would feel better soon.
***
The kids were snug in their beds, their next day’s outfits chosen and lunches packed, a huge win considering the day – and week – she’d had. Her daughter had tucked herself in; waiting a few minutes while her brother got the first bedtime cuddle had taken too long. “I didn’t think you’d come.”
“Have I ever not come?” the woman replied, without a breath of defense or exasperation. With at least ten kisses, hugs, and promises of eternal love and devotion, the little girl said goodnight. Gently closing the door behind her, and picking up one stray sock in the hall, the woman thought to herself with a loving and knowing sigh, “I’d do anything for that child.”
She peeked into her son’s room, noticing the silhouettes of partly formed Lego statues against the pale blue walls. It seemed that the boy had fallen asleep the second his head had hit the pillow. The toddler who moved into that room eight years ago would be finishing the third grade in a matter of days. The woman found herself saying to anyone who would listen (mostly her friends with children the same age and in the same state of disbelief), “I can’t believe I’m going to be the mother of a 4th grader. I remember 4th grade.”
The thought occurred again, what she’d do for her boy. Anything. A text of encouragement to her husband – out of town and needing to hear just the right words to support a difficult decision. Anything. What she’d do if asked, what she’d do if needed, what she’d do if called upon and could not conceive of saying no. Anything.
Sitting down in front of the television with a popsicle for dinner and a bag of frozen peas numbing her aches, she wondered how it was that she would do anything for someone else, but struggled so much to define the anything she would do for herself with as much passion, devotion and urgency.
Something had to change.
