3:30 a.m. Roger opens the door and flips on the light... he has come to draw blood. While the patient yields her arm without complaint I rise from my night's bed, a vinyl covered recliner, and shuffle down the hall to fill a hospital thermos with ice water. The patient will be thirsty.
6:30 a.m. The doctors make their rounds. We receive encouraging news... home on Monday! For the first time in almost a week the patient is allowed solid food, a while later we share a plate of waffles and scrambled eggs. On Mother's Day morning there is no place that I would rather be than on the seventh floor of university hospital with my mother.
2:00 p.m. I drive home in the rain feeling torn. I yearn to be with the ones who call me daughter, and yet I yearn to be with the three who are waiting for me, loving me. I contemplate balance.
4:00 p.m. Three pairs of blue-gray eyes greet me with smiles when I step through the kitchen door. Tukes excitedly announces in his jolly, Tuke'ish way, "We made cards. We have borfday pwesents for you!" {For Tukes, any present is a birthday present.} I hug their necks while they give me treats... on Mother's Day afternoon there is no place that I would rather be than with my three men.
9:00 p.m. I fall into bed, physically exhausted and emotionally drained... the valley is a hard place.
You, dear readers, have overwhelmed me with your support. Thank you for your thoughtful and encouraging messages. Thank you for praying. Thank you for understanding.
{Photo: My mother and me, captured by my father, 1978}
.jpg)
