I remember the first time Janan had to be taken to the emergency room for stitches. We had gone to my friend Jill's for pizza. Jill and I have been best friends since the 3rd grade and, when we lived close enough, always made it a priority to get ourselves and the kids together every few weeks so the kids could play while we enjoyed some 'mommy' time.
While Jill and I are were in the kitchen drinking a glass of wine, munching on pizza and catching up on the week's events, Janan was 'twirling' with Jill's daughter, Sarah, in the next room. Soon, Sarah came in to say Janan was bleeding. We both calmly put our wine glasses and pizza down (Jill's a mom of 3, so not much makes her panic anymore) and walked into the other room to find Janan holding her head and blood everywhere. I had heard from other Mama's how badly head wounds bleed, but you can't imagine it until you see it first hand.
Despite the blood and my screaming four-year-old, I somehow managed to calmly picked her up, use the wet washcloth Jill brought me to figure out what had happened, determine stitches were needed, get Jill's husband to stay with her kids and get into Jill's van to head to the ER. On the way, I talked soothingly to Janan, maintained pressure on the bleeding, kept Jill updated on how things were going (she was driving and couldn't see), and called Andy to let him know he needed to meet us at the local ER.
Once at the ER, I checked Janan in, filled out all the necessary forms (while continuing to maintain pressure on her still bleeding head wound), updated the triage nurses and then the doctor on what had happened, stayed with her while the stitches were put in and then, while waiting on the discharge papers, calmly told Jill and Andy I needed to run to the restroom before we left.
As soon as the bathroom door closed, I broke down sobbing and it took a good 10 minutes of hugs from Jill and reminders that I was now officially a "real" mom because my daughter had survived her first stitches to recollect myself and be able to go back in and sign the paperwork that would allow us to go home.
I was shocked I had been so calm through everything only to 'lose it' after it was over! I think for most Mamas we discover this is some type of inherent trait that only surfaces after we have a child. Whether biological or adopted, once your child arrives on this planet not fire, plague, pestilence, gaping head wounds, or a herd of stampeding elephants can deter you from being there for your child. Truthfully, we could BE the one's with the plague and gaping head wound while dodging a herd of stampeding elephants through fire and still be calmly holding our child and saying, "It's OK, honey, don't cry. Mama's right here."
So, should I really be surprised that...despite holding it together this past year while my marriage disintegrated, I worked full-time, did the auction, made hot lunch every day for Janan, secured an attorney, cooked dinner, processed a divorce, did laundry, packed an entire house, nursed Janan through the swine flu, put our house on the market, planned a fun-filled, cross-country trip, dealt (relatively) calmly with Janan getting altitude sickness and the engine failure on my only car...that now that it's 'over' I feel myself falling apart?
I truly believe, like I said yesterday, that wildfires literally ravage the desert and, figuratively, our lives to allow for new growth, but sometimes wouldn't it be nice to be more like the snake...painlessly growing new, beautiful, skin under the old and then just slipping out of the old one day when we no longer need it to find our new skin is fully intact, functional and 'ready to wear'? Yeah, if only...
It's times like these I always return to a favorite story of mine:
A man found a cocoon of a butterfly. One day a small opening appeared. He sat and watched the butterfly for several hours as it struggled to force its body through that little hole. Then it seemed to stop making any progress. It appeared as if it had gotten as far as it had and it could go no further. Then the man decided to help the butterfly, so he took a pair of scissors and snipped off the remaining bit of the cocoon. The butterfly then emerged easily. But it had a swollen body and small, shriveled wings. The man continued to watch the butterfly because he expected that, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to be able to support the body, which would contract in time.Neither happened! In fact, the butterfly spent the rest of its life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings. It never was able to fly. What the man in his kindness and haste did not understand was that the restricting cocoon and the struggle required for the butterfly to get through the tiny opening were nature's way of forcing fluid from the body of the butterfly into its wings so that it would be ready for flight once it achieved its freedom from the cocoon. Sometimes struggles are exactly what we need in our life. Going through our life without any obstacles would cripple us. We would not be as strong as what we could have been. And we could never fly. (author unknown) |
So, I'm going to work on coming out of this cocoon, resting when I need to and working through the challenges until I get my wings and fly.
