So here we are today I woke up knowing that today there were 6 days left. I woke up thinking of one single comment I made on Sunday.
Disclaimer: Sunday was a bad day. A bad day I needed. That bad day is over and I am truly a happy little duck again. This post is purely about the power of a mother. The power they have to heal even worst broken hearts and broken egos.
You see Sunday was a rough day. I woke up knowing that I had one single phone call to make. The phone call should be sweet and simple. “Hey. I am really sorry about last night. I approached it wrong. Forgive me?” Before I could roll out of bed my phone started exploding with texts–3 in a row. It seems as if there were other plans for my day. None the less, the day went on and before I knew it, it was 3 in the afternoon and I just had the same phone call for the third time in 6 months–the second time in 2 weeks. It was about then I did everything I could to keep from throwing myself out of a window[sidenote: I only have first floor window so I would have been throwing myself a whole 8 inches]. It was not that I was upset, it was pure frustration. Frustration is a tricky thing. Tricky, tricky, tricky. [sidenote: I just sang in my head, ‘it’s tricky to rock around…’]
On this day, right in the middle of my frustration, my mom walked in. I sat there on the couch staring at a t.v. that was not on. She busted in the door as she often doesn in her overly charismatic(if possible) way and said, “why are you not watching the Saints game?!” Then she plopped down on the couch and looked at me. She asked what was wrong, and I said, “Nothing. Nothing is wrong. I am just tired. I am fine.” As I am saying this my eyes are filling with tears. She didn’t think. She just took my head and wrapped it in her arms, just like I remember when I was a kid. I then just folded. It was one of those moments when you drop your face in your hands and don’t move. The time when you think, “if I move my hands, than I won’t be able to hold my head up.” It was one of those moments when you know that 50% of these tears are out of pure exhaustion and the other 50% are things that could have been completely avoided. I kept running all that I wanted to say through my head. One thing came out, “Please don’t say mom things.”
I remember a time when I slammed my finger in a car door. It was a week before my mom was getting married. I was 5 years old. I slammed my finger in the door and did what would come to be an all to common practice for me. I left my finger there and on the count of 3 I ripped my finger out of the door without opening it. Thus, making the extent of injuries worse. At the time, it was all I knew to do. It was habit. What wasn’t habit was that I didn’t cry about the pain until after I had removed myself from it. It was about the time that I held my finger in my hand that I started screaming. My mom ran to me instantly. We went home and put ice on my bruised finger. That night I woke up screaming, as my finger nail was black and the top of my finger swollen. We packed up and went to the E.R. and they drained the blood that had built up. I cried the whole time. My mom just held me. She knew it hurt and she never asked me to stop crying. She knew as well as I did that tears sometimes are the only thing that heals. Tears are pain exiting the body. We went home and she had me soak my finger in epsom salt. To make it better she went and got me the magical scooby doo band-aid, and it was magical. Somehow, that scooby doo band-aid made the pain go away. It was replaced each day with one that looked exactly the same — everyday, till I was healed.
I only tell this story because my mom has this touch. She has this hug. She has the ability to make every hurt, physical or emotional, go away. This Sunday I just wanted the hug. I wanted the touch. I wanted the scooby doo band-aid. I didn’t want the words. That day she gave me a hug, she rubbed my back, she gave me a scooby doo band-aid(metaphorically of course), and listened. She knew on that day I needed a friend in my mother, not the mom advice. She is the original paper rainbow.
Update: She waited a whole 24 hours before offering th mom opinion. It was okay at this point…my wounds had healed.
Lifetimes of paper rainbows…W the scooby doo artichoke