I hesitated writing this post because every time I tell a story that is in any way poignant or expressing regrets, I get concerned emails saying, "Andrea, are you okay? Are you depressed?" In advance: Peeps, I am not depressed, but thank you for your concern.
Okay. This memory was occasioned by this week's sojourn to the emergency department, as you could probably figure out by your own selves. But it never hurts to be obvious. C'mon now.
On the Sunday of Fourth of July weekend when D was 12, he went with his father to a cookout at his other grandfather's house. Whatever He Was to Me and I were due to leave on vacation the next day. (It was a long distance relationship. He at the time lived in Syracuse and I, of course, lived in Boston. We were meeting up in Albany and then adjourning to the Adirondacks to go hiking. I was really looking forward to it.) So the evening of July 5, I was just putzing around, doing some last minute packing. The phone rang.
It was my ex. He and D were in the ER, and while D was okay, I should get there immediately. And bring the insurance card. What had happened was this: one of my ex's drunken moron friends, who was also at this barbecue, decided to set off some fireworks beneath the deck in order to scare the people who were sitting on it. Um, yeah, hilarious prank. By someone in their fucking thirties, no less. Well. The explosion actually blew a chunk of wood out of the deck, which flew through the air in a projectile-like fashion towards the lawn where the kids were running around. My son ended up with the chunk of wood lodged in his ear.
They got it out and fixed him up in the ER and said it looked like everything was going to be okay. However, they wanted him to see the ENT that week just to make sure there wasn't going to be permanent damage or hearing loss. "I'm going to be out of town," I said. "I'm supposed to be leaving for NY in the morning."
"Well, I can't take him," my ex said. "I have to work." As if if I *weren't* going on vacation, I wouldn't also have "had to work."
"You want me to cancel my trip so you don't have to leave work for an hour?"
"Sorry, I can't do it."
At some point later while we were still in the emergency department but S was out of the room, D turned to me and said, "Mom? I'm sorry you're missing your vacation because of me."
Imagine my heart shattering into a million pieces. "Oh, sweetheart, no. You're way, way more important than my vacation. I was just upset at your dad because it's his fault you got hurt and he's not taking any responsibility for it."
But, you know. Part of the reason my heart broke was because it was true. I *had* had a brief spasm of resentment and, apparently, it showed. And a "good mother" wouldn't have even thought about taking off to cavort in the woods with her paramour when her twelve year old just had an injury. <--It's hard to even type that. And, yes, I do know that I was not the *worse* parent in this little story. I just wasn't a very good one.
I think I did better with dad this week. Live and learn. Still die stupid.
xoxo
2 comments:
Even as a regular, I'm not entirely sure I'm qualified to say anything, but:
I don't think there's a parent alive or dead who hasn't had some kind of plan interrupted by the needs of their child, and who hasn't felt somewhat resentful because of it, then guilty because of the resentment. It goes with the job.
What matters isn't whether you changed your plans happily, but that you changed them. *You* did; *he* didn't. That puts you high up on the good parent scale, and you're disqualified from feeling any guilt because of it >:D<
The same is true when you're a grownup dealing with older parents, I think. And consider what you've learnt about esophageal remedies, and the willingness of at least some clinical personnel to go the extra mile--literally--to get them right.
May you have better luck with the next change of underwear.
Thanks. I know all this intellectually; it's just the emotional memory that's tough.
But seriously, I have learned. Grown. What-the fuck-ever. :-) When I was cajoling my dad to go to the ER, because he needed cajoling, I purposely did not mention to him that I had plans for the day apart from my own doctor's appointment, even though the selfish part of me was screaming inside, "the sooner you agree to do this, the more the (still miniscule) chance I'll be able to salvage something of my day and evening." I didn't want to lay any guilt on him, even inadvertantly, for the inconvenience of his needing medical attention. All part of my big campaign to be a better person :-)
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