I have a wonderful network of friends here in town. I call them all "mama" because that is what we are, that is what have in common, that is what is at our core.
We are mamas.
Some of us work outside of the home, most of us do not.
The women that I call my mamas do not make that an issue.
The women I call my mamas are the ones that I respect, admire, care for and trust. They put their families first, they care about our community. I can ask them to watch my children or grab me a dozen eggs since they're going to the store anyway. I don't sweat picking up a cup of coffee or having one picked up for me. We don't quibble over a lunch tab or who's watched who's kid more often or with shorter notice.
We support each other. We look out for each other. We ask for guidance and give advice.
We look forward to our kids growing up together and cherish the moments along the way.
We also drink large quantities of wine together, debate town politics, dish catty bullshit and laugh our asses off.
The past few days have been difficult for my mamas.
The past few days have been incredibly, mind-blowing-ly, miserably depressing.
Within our community, cancer took one of our own.
Just outside of our small community but close enough for the ripples to affect, there was a violent accident involving a 6 year old boy. He died.
And this past weekend, right here in town, a boating accident has put one of my mama's husbands on life support, with only prayer and hope to offer, we're all feeling completely helpless.
When I heard about the passing of my friend-of-a-friend, I felt sad but also some relief. She had been very sick for a long time and she had been preparing for the inevitable.
I felt some peace that she was finally out of pain.
And then it occurred to me that, while I was relieved for her relief, I hadn't really considered how much it sucked that she got cancer to begin with.
I knew her pre-cancer, we hung out in the same circle of friends, drank wine and laughed many nights. But I really got to know her story through her cancer, through that network of support and compassion, I had more to do with her in cancer than in life.
So while I am at peace with her being in Heaven, the grief of her passing hit me a few days later. She has twins, a boy and a girl. They are lucky to have their dad who was on the brink of re-marrying when her diagnosis came. They will have parents and siblings and a fine life ahead of them. But they won't have their mom.
That is really fucking sad.
When I read about the little boy who died, I was devastated. The story gripped me because the boy they showed in the picture was a happy, toothless 6 year-old, one I did not know personally but who looked like every other happy, toothless 6 year-old I know. He didn't look like a tragic accident.
But his parents lost him, his brother and sister lost him. He's dead and I am so sorry, I don't think I could feel any sadder for them if I did know them personally.
Then, I found that one of my mamas, one of my nearest and dearest
did know him, and his family personally. Her 6 year-old boy went to pre-school here in our little town, with that little boy.
Then, she shared details of their lives with me, details of that baby's funeral with me, details of his mother's reaction and strength.
She told me about 15 boys in full Boy Scout uniform that carried a tiny casket down the aisle of a church followed by his mother, walking tall and singing proudly about her baby boy's trip to heaven.
Right when I didn't think I could feel any sadder through my whole body, she told me that the mother of that little boy said to her "we will get through this".
When I opened up my MacBook to check my mail after a busy day of domesticity and errand-running on Monday night, I did not expect much more than a Book Club update and to see if a few checks had cleared. What I got instead was a punch in the gut that I neither expected nor have completely recovered from.
A mama of mine, one of my oldest and favorite-est - her husband was "in a boating accident, is on life support, we don't know any more details."
Now, here is where the magnificence of my small town network comes in. This news was only hours old and already, 12 of us were on call for childcare, food prep, laundry, house cleaning, car pools and whatever else this mama might need.
That's beautiful, right?
And what's behind that? Love. Community. Support. Compassion.
All that.
And Fear.
Fear. Because that family? They're just like my family. They are us.
When she kissed her husband goodbye Saturday morning for Opening Day of Fishing in Connecticut, the very last thing on her mind was "this could be it, better make it a good one."
He wasn't going sky diving, or hunting or even Ice Fishing! He was going out on a lake, in a boat, with his buddy. I presume he's done this many times before. I wonder if she even woke up enough to say goodbye. He probably left really early. Did she even say good bye?
And now he's got a brain injury. He's in a medically induced coma because his brain is swelling. He is completely on Life Support.
And my mama and her beautiful daughters are sitting by his hospital bed, afraid to move.
What's going to happen to him? Them? What's next?
No one knows. No one can help. They can only wait. And I am terrified for her.
I know how awful and depressing this blog post is. I am sorry if I am completely ruining your day.
I don't even have a happy ending. I have only more questions.
What if that was Jay? What if he went fishing and hit his head and fell in the water and was in a coma on life support? What would I do? Because I know this family - and it could have been us.
That terrifies me.
So, today while the kids were at school I found myself with one of those pleasant afternoons of "nothing to do". A little perk of having no actual occupation.
I also had no money (another "perk") so I came home after dropping the kids off and swept the floor. Then I baked some cookies while The Birds was on cable in the kitchen.
It was a very pleasant afternoon. Wyatt came home with our neighbor so I didn't have to leave for pick-up and Abby came home on the bus.
They loved my cookies (chocolate chunk and pecans in a basic dough - nothing fancy but I had all the ingredients and they really came out great) and with nothing else to do, I sat down to watch tv with them.
An hour later, I woke up and found them both still sitting on me and the clock telling me to start dinner.
After dinner, we read a couple of books and Jay and I tucked the kids in.
Wyatt fell asleep but Abby asked me to snuggle her.
My girl is very intuitive and she can tell that I am a less than happy. Not that she knows why or how, but it affects her mood, too. I was happy to oblige so I got into bed with her and we snuggled. She fell asleep pretty quickly but I stayed. I was looking out the window of her bedroom watching the wind blow the trees, noticing how green things are getting and just feeling lost.
Then, I sort of focused on the trees and felt a memory. Do you ever feel a memory so vividly it's almost like an out--of-body experience?
I was remembering her little room with different colors, different curtains and paint... with a crib and a changing table and rocking chair.
I was rocking my tiny, tiny baby to sleep. Gently getting out of the rocker with her in my arms, gingerly placing her tiny-ness into her giant crib, desperate not to jostle her or wake her only to have to nurse and rock her back to sleep and repeat the process again.
Some nights I think I did it 2 or 3 times before I escaped her room.
I can remember those nights, feeling trapped, feeling like I would never get her off my boob, never get her to fall asleep on her own, never get out of that room...
And on this night, not wanting to get out. Wishing for a rocker and a crib...
Life is so precious. Family, friends, happiness. It's so precious.
