The Calm Before the Storm(s)

Thunder & lightening startled us awake. I hear the click of the TV being turned on, and I turn to make brief eye contact. I see Don’s expression as we rub the sleep out of our eyes. In the bluish glow of the TV, the weatherman gives us the 5am update on Tropical Storm Fay. Don looks tired but that’s only because it’s early…

It’s too early for most of us, & for Mom it’s both early and late. It’s late for her to hold her first grandbaby. She’s 64 for God’s sake – she should be an expectant great-grandmother by now. At least that’s the way I’ve always heard it should be. And I’m still stuck in neutral, gunnin’ the engine knowing damn well all I have to do is shift into gear. Guess it’s late for me, too, as I approach my 43rd birthday a week from Wednesday, but I prefer to think of my motherhood just being behind schedule. More on this subject later.

There’s something soothing about Sunday mornings, & light traffic made our drive to the hospital easy. Well “easier” at least; there is no big red easy button to press like in the commercial on TV. We politely knocked and pushed on her door announcing our arrival in a cheerful, albeit hushed voice. She looked sick, and for the first time I felt scared. I was loosing emotional ground and all the clawing in the world wasn’t going to keep me “Queen of the Be-Strong-Kelly Hill”. In the cafeteria I teared up but Don caught me. “Don’t go borrowing trouble. She’ll be alright.” And it’s too early to tell where the storm named Fay will go, or what she’ll do. No, we don’t know how Gloria will respond to treatment. No, we don’t know where Fay will hit. All we can do is prepare for the worst and pray for the best.

It’s now 11:30 and I find myself isolated in a lush garden within the hospital campus. The weather here is rather lovely, not too hot or cold, some clouds with mostly glorious sunshine. There are several pretty wrought iron tables & chairs decorated with pineapples – the icon of hospitality. But it’s just me, my laptop and my iTunes sharing everything and nothing. Clickty clack at my finger tips and thump-thump of toe tapping the base of the umbrella table. Soon I will go back to the decidedly comfortable hospital room to kiss her and hug Don. She wants me to go to the mall to find a wig for her. She keeps joking about becoming a redhead. We looked at the Paula Young website last night. I now have my marching orders to get her something as close to the “Abbey” look as possible. Am I looking for her lost youth? Am I supplying her with a narcotic to dull the pain of reality? Or are we simply preparing – doing what you’re suppose to do knowing there’s now an official forecast, with the eye of the storm tracking right for your home?