Near Jack’s room, which is right next door, I ask, “Jack, are you dressed?”
Crash!
Something shatters downstairs, and I take off before I even realize it.
I fly down the stairs, my heart pounding, as I run horrible what-if scenarios in my head. I bolt down the last few steps, heading straight for the kitchen. “Jack, are you okay? What happened?”
I turn the corner, preparing myself for blood and hours in the ER. Thankfully, neither of those has to happen. Two mugs have seen their last day, lying in pieces scattered on the floor. And Jack is standing safely on the counter with a chair pushed up against it.
His eyes are as wide as they can get as he waits for me to say something, his mouth quivering.
I take a step toward him. “Are you okay? What happened?” I walk closer to him with my slippers on, avoiding the chunks of sharp ceramic.
I reach my arms out to him, and his hands grip mine. I lift him off the counter, resting him on my hip.
He says in the most heart-wrenching tone, “I’m sorry, Mom. I was trying to get a mug down for you for your coffee.”
My heart clenches.
When I found out I was pregnant, I was terrified. I was scared out of my mind to raise a baby, to help him grow into his own person. To be responsible for another human being. But moments like this make every sacrifice, every scary moment, one hundred percent worth it. Being his mom is the best thing I’ve ever done.
I set him down on the couch and take his cheeks in my hands. “That is so very sweet of you, buddy, but you could’ve gotten hurt. And I’d much rather have an unharmed you than a cup of coffee.”
He smiles, but I can tell he’s still a little shaken up. The front door opens, and Josh and Charlotte make their way in with their first round of groceries.
“Why don’t you go help them carry stuff in? I’ll get the kitchen cleaned up.” I lean down, kissing his forehead.
He nods, and I lower him to the ground.
It dawns on me that I never noticed his outfit. His cape is whipping behind him. No wonder he was feeling a little fearless this morning.
He’s Superman.
After we got all of the groceries put away and finished breakfast, we got ready to go see Mom. It’s only about a ten-minute drive from the house.
We like to go see her every Sunday. We tell her all about our week, what happened, good and bad. I like to think she can still hear us. That when she wakes up, she won’t skip a beat; she’ll be up to date on everything in our lives.
I don’t exactly remember when this became our new normal. When talking to her in a hospital bed became our routine. Instead of feeling her arms wrap around us, instead of feeling the warmth of her, when we hug her, we feel the cords and tubes surrounding her frail body.
I try not to focus on the sadness of it all, to separate my mind and my heart. But it’s hard. It’s hard to talk to her and not hear her sweet voice chime in or to say good-bye and not be completely enveloped in a warm hug. I never realized how much I took that for granted. I took it all for granted.
But I guess that’s how it feels with everything in life. What’s the saying?You never know what you have until it’s gone. Something like that.
We pull into the parking lot and find the guest parking. By now, I do it out of habit.
Jack’s fussing to get out of his seat. “Mom, hurry up! I want to see Grandma.”
I undo my seat belt, falling into the motions of our visit. I open his door, and he practically jumps out the second he can. He grabs hold of my hand and all but drags me to the building.
Do you know the feeling when you’re so full of emotion that you just go numb? Yeah, well, that’s me every Sunday. My brain somehow compartmentalizes anything to do with my mom.
I haven’t cried once since her stroke. I haven’t shed one tear. I don’t get it. I am usually so emotional over everything. The last episode in a TV series, the end of almost every movie, sad videos, all of it. But inside, I’m shredded to pieces, waiting for her to put me back together.
Once we get inside the hospital, we step onto the elevator and Jack presses the button to her floor. The elevator opens, and we head right to her room, smiling at Angie, one of the nurses who works here. She always goes out of her way to make all of us comfortable and content. I’m glad she’s here, watching over my mom.
Seeing her in the bed, unconscious, never gets easier. It takes my breath. It doesn’t faze Jack though. He runs up, hopping right onto her bed, snuggling into her side. Maybe it’s because he’s young. He doesn’t know that this isn’t normal, that most kids don’t visit their grandma in a hospital bed on Sundays. But it’s what he’s known for a while, and he doesn’t question it.
His words are tumbling out of his mouth so fast that they seem to merge together as he begins telling her everything. “So, Mom took me to get this super-awesome Superman costume, the one I have on. I know you can’t see it, but it’s the coolest thing ever. It has a cape and everything. I wear it all the time, even to sleep. I can’t wait to show you. Maybe Mom could get you one, too, and then we could match. My week was okay. School’s good. My friends are good. I want them to come here to meet you. But we don’t really hang out much outside of school.”
