My Note To You All on Mother’s Day Weekend

fullsizeoutput_125d4I’m sitting on a bed covered in laundry. Dinner has been served but the dishes haven’t been cleared or cleaned. The door to my bedroom is shut and you could say I’m hiding for a while. Because, I am.

I don’t know how many more emotions I can ride today. There’s been so many over the past few weeks. Looking at the four other faces in my family, I’d say they all look tired.  We just scrapped tonight’s plans.

Truly grateful.  We just made it through another week.


The last few days as  I ran through our neighborhood I have had the same track playing through my mind. I am back to that moment on April 27th and it’s 8:30 am. All dressed up for the funeral of our favorite crossing guard, I’m running through the streets with wet hair and in heels.  Headed straight towards all the sirens and lights, I feel nothing but fear because after the phone call I just got, Your son’s been hit by a car,  I know things aren’t ok. Your mind hits every scenario before the second you step up into the ambulance and hear the screaming. You just feel so thankful for the screaming because that means he’s still conscious and talking.

The paramedics and I are telling him to relax and take deep breaths. I remind myself to do the same.

I’m in the trauma room and they are cutting his clothes off.

I’m sneaking out past the curtains to cry without him seeing.

The chaplain keeps asking if I need anything. All I can think that I need is a glass of water and to hear my sister’s voice.

I’m reassuring my son that he isn’t going to die.

I’m gripping the back of my husband’s shirt hoping that it will hold me up and repeating the only thing I can think to say,   I’m so scared, I’m so scared, I’m so scared, I’m so scared.

And then when things feel like they are slowing down, everything hits the gas. I’m sobbing as I quickly sign paper after paper after paper after paper because they need to get him to the operating room as soon as possible.

The doctor warns me for the fourth time that he will have a weird haircut because they have to shave part of his head. I finally snap and tell her I. DON’T. CARE.

I keep asking myself, is this real life?

We are in the waiting room and I wonder how everyone here can be talking and smiling? How can people be posting about their breakfast on Facebook? Don’t they know that the world has just stopped spinning?

I can’t sit here anymore.

It’s 3pm and I’m standing outside the high school field house, straining to see  my daughter as hundreds of kids exit dressed for all sorts of sport’s practices. Why isn’t she answering my phone calls? I swear she’s the last one who emerges and then all of a sudden we are standing there with only the stadium iron bars separating us and I’m telling her that her brother is fighting for his life. Without missing a beat she has gathered all of her belongings and I watch as the tears flow down her face and hear her cleats hit the concrete, moving as fast as we can towards the car.  She won’t let me hug her, she’s as terrified as I am.

And then the three of us take an elevator to the 4th floor, destination pediatric intensive care unit. I remember the beeping, the tubes coming out of everywhere, the doctors and the nurses. I remember the reassuring look and half smile of the surgeon who is standing next to my son’s bed.

It’s that moment that when I start to breathe again.

When I have given him all the kisses I can give, I leave him with Drew and  head back to a house full of family that has already arrived.

I see my sister, my brother-in-law, my nephew and niece.   Sweet relief that someone is here to take care of me.


Two weeks later the dishes aren’t as big of a deal. I can throw all the laundry that surrounds me here on the bed back into the basket. We just need this time together and we need our rest.

Happy Mother’s Day weekend to all of the women in my life. Those who have a mother, those who are mothers, those who want to be mothers and those who are not yet mothers.

Let the laundry surround you and the dishes sit on the table. Let someone else take care of you for this moment. You are loved!


2 thoughts on “My Note To You All on Mother’s Day Weekend

  1. Dear Lisa, imagining you experiencing each of these moments leaves me in tears. How very, very scary, my friend. The ache of love is strong. Thank you for the reminder to leave the laundry and let someone else care for us.


  2. Happy Mother’s Day to you my dear. Your story is so moving and the conclusion is so true! We do deserve to be taken care of now and then! 💜 Nancy

    On Fri, May 11, 2018 at 9:18 PM A Sky Full of Stories wrote:

    > Lisa posted: “I’m sitting on a bed covered in laundry. Dinner has been > served but the dishes haven’t been cleared or cleaned. The door to my > bedroom is shut and you could say I’m hiding for awhile. Because, I am. I > don’t know how many more emotions I can ride today. T” >


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