Wrong on that. My ex is ringing from the hospital, with a list of things that he needs for me to take up to Paoli - stat.
Thank goodness it's Paoli, and not the University of Pennsylvania, I think -- because right now I'm not sure I can contemplate that drive without hysterics.
Downstairs in his home, the floor is littered with paper and plastic the medic left behind when he showed up this morning around 4:30 a.m. Two nice young policemen -- one of whom introduced the team as: "We're the youngest officers on the force....and this is the oldest medic."
When I told my son, after he woke up later this morning, he sat silently on the bed. When I asked if he was o.k., he shook his head "no."
I rubbed his back for a while. What could I tell him?
That it would all be o.k.? Who knows what will occur next?
A few weeks ago, Mr. C. broke out in hives. This week, he thought they had returned -- a few nights ago, I woke up and found that his light was on. He'd been freaked out, he told me. Crawling up beside him on the bed, I held him,, like the toddler he'd once been, until he slept again.
This Saturday, he's going to an anti-torture conference -- which may distress him more. But he wants to go, to act like an adult, to find ways to help.
In that respect, I suppose, he's like his ancestors.
How can I help my children when I have so little left to give?
It seems that all I do is crash into deadlines and manage crises. I can't remember the last time I laughed, punned, or flirted. All of which I need to do regularly.
Today I found out that my house won't be done for another two months -- it's hard to know what or who to blame, but the reality overwhelmed me. What to do? Where to go?
How to keep my children, particularly the sensitive, more altruistic one, from losing it?
How to stay sane myself.
I have no answers.
But I better come up with some....fast.
Meanwhile, back to the hospital with the things that my ex needs...focused on only the road ahead .
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