Yesterday was the worst day of my life as I had to tell my parents, brothers, and nieces something that no one should ever have to tell another person. I thought telling my mom and big brother about the circumstances surrounding my divorce were hard. Nothing will ever erase the heartache of my most recent conversation, and I will forever remember their faces.
Today wasn’t much better as I ran interference with well meaning rehab doctors, had a neurology team that rivaled Grey’s Anatomy march into the room, and sat on hold with a God-damn Pallative Care Home listening to, “We want your holidays to be GREAT and SPECIAL with your family.” The urge to throw something through a window, really destroy something, became understandable to me at that moment.
After having spent 60 hours straight at the hospital, I picked up my boys for a brief dinner before returning to my sister’s bedside for the night, the next day, the next night, forever if my family will let me. They won’t. My father has already kicked me out for tomorrow night, and he’s scheming with my nephew to steal my “bed” (aka couch that I cushion with a down comforter from home) for the next night. We’ll see who wins. (here’s a hint: never bet on the men)
After dinner while driving them to their dad’s office, I told the boys 9,7, and 4 that their aunt was very, very ill and had to stay in the hospital a while longer. It was all that I could say without my voice cracking. I struggled to hold back tears as I drove down the tollway.
Then, from the backseat of the silent car, I heard the tiny voice of my sweet four year old, “Dear God…” Then, I heard my six year old chime in, “Please heal my aunt, and please cheer up my mom and my Nonie (grandmother).” My oldest son looked at me and said, “I’ve been praying silently, and I can tell how much you love her because you are there all the time now when she needs you. She is lucky to have you.”
Their wisdom and compassion beyond their years truly amazes me. I’m lucky to have them and my sister.