He'd been under general anesthesia that day. He'd been in the car for four hours. The numbing cream on his hand hadn't worked. The IV hadn't gone in the first time or the second. But none of the other moms knew that as he squirmed and complained in his piano class. They glanced over their shoulders at me and I resented their children's private-school frocks and ties.
This quiet crying and sidelong glares IS holding it together for her. We're pleased with this response because it's so controlled compared to what it could be and what it has been. Please don't stare.
When you asked how I was at the checkout counter, did you really want to know? I left my three year old screaming from his hospital bed a few minutes ago. His cerebral fluid is leaking and it is excruciating. My daughters are lost without their parents. I am scared. But you don't really want to know that. And that's OK. Just please understand when I'm not friendly.
You got out of your car to yell at me. I'm not even sure what I did wrong. You used words that aren't allowed in PG-13 movies.
Be kind. Everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. (Plato)
When I am tempted to criticize, please let me remember that I can't see their battle.
When I am tempted to idolize her life and children and marriage, please let me remember that I can't see her battles either.
1 comment:
Wow, I really like your writing style and I hope things get better for you with this post. It's a great reminder that each and everyone of us are fighting our own battles. Thank you for the reminder.
I found your blog through blog hopping and hope you didn't mind that I commented. I hope you don't mind if I put you up on my blog post thing. I'm really enjoying your writing. If you don't want it up on my blog thing then you can let me know and I'll take it down.
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