A long time ago, well not that long, but about 10 years ago, my oldest broke his collar bone. It seems like a very, very long time ago, when my kids were little, when kids were actually out playing, when we would actually drive places together. It happened during an ice hockey game. He was distraught. Now I am just thankful that's all it was. No concussion, no serious injury. Then, it felt like the end of the world. For him especially. He wouldn't be able to pitch for the upcoming baseball season. He wouldn't be able to play at all. He would be sitting on the sidelines. And sit on the sidelines he did. For every game for his team. Cheering them on as best he could. Kinda feels like that now, right? We've all been called out of the game, trying to cheer on our healthcare heroes from the sidelines. Wanting them so badly to defeat this enemy of ours.
When I took Jay to the Orthopedic surgeon and he gave us the news, we walked gracefully, quietly to the car. When we got in the car, Jay burst into tears. "Why?" he asked over and over. Why did this have to happen? He had dreams and aspirations that would fill a 12-year-old's heart, or any heart for that matter. This was not the plan. And when your 12-year-old's heart is crushed, your heart as a mother is crushed too.
After the doctor's office, I went to pick up my other kids at the babysitter's. Charlie was about 6 at the time. When he got in the car, he tried to tell me about how exciting and wonderful his day was. As it is for most 6-year-olds. When he saw that my reaction was less than expected, he asked me what was wrong. "I'm sorry, Charlie" I said, "Jay is sad. He broke his bone. He can't play baseball." Charlie kinda looked at me as if to say, "But you're not broken." I explained, "A mother can never be happier than her saddest child." Charlie nodded and looked out the window for a moment. Our whole car was quiet. Then he looked up and said, "Does this mean we're all connected?" It stopped me in my tracks, or I should say, tears.
"Yes, Charlie, we are all connected." I don't know if he meant all of us as in our family, or all of us as in our world, but he got it. He knew that one's pain affects another and another and another. He knew that he could be sorry for Jay too. He knew that we all bear each other's burdens and we all support each other in lifting each other up, binding each other's wounds. We all had a responsibility that day to help Jay deal with the disappointment and the pain.
I think that is the pain we are dealing with right now. So much in the world is broken. So many are hurting so deeply. We can't afford to turn and say, Buck up! It's fine! It is not fine. It. Is. Not. Fine. People are hurting. We all have to bear that burden. We all have to do what we can. Whatever we can. It is our responsibility. We are all connected.
I know I did rally later that night and join in the joy that Charlie felt about his day. And we can celebrate each other now too. I appreciate and celebrate the nurses and the doctors and the research scientists and molecular biologists. I celebrate the grocery store clerks and delivery people. I celebrate the military and the police officers. I celebrate those who are working so hard to just get food from the food pantry. They didn't want this. This was not their plan. We all have to do what we can. After all, one's joy affects another and another and another. We are all connected.
When I took Jay to the Orthopedic surgeon and he gave us the news, we walked gracefully, quietly to the car. When we got in the car, Jay burst into tears. "Why?" he asked over and over. Why did this have to happen? He had dreams and aspirations that would fill a 12-year-old's heart, or any heart for that matter. This was not the plan. And when your 12-year-old's heart is crushed, your heart as a mother is crushed too.
After the doctor's office, I went to pick up my other kids at the babysitter's. Charlie was about 6 at the time. When he got in the car, he tried to tell me about how exciting and wonderful his day was. As it is for most 6-year-olds. When he saw that my reaction was less than expected, he asked me what was wrong. "I'm sorry, Charlie" I said, "Jay is sad. He broke his bone. He can't play baseball." Charlie kinda looked at me as if to say, "But you're not broken." I explained, "A mother can never be happier than her saddest child." Charlie nodded and looked out the window for a moment. Our whole car was quiet. Then he looked up and said, "Does this mean we're all connected?" It stopped me in my tracks, or I should say, tears.
"Yes, Charlie, we are all connected." I don't know if he meant all of us as in our family, or all of us as in our world, but he got it. He knew that one's pain affects another and another and another. He knew that he could be sorry for Jay too. He knew that we all bear each other's burdens and we all support each other in lifting each other up, binding each other's wounds. We all had a responsibility that day to help Jay deal with the disappointment and the pain.
I think that is the pain we are dealing with right now. So much in the world is broken. So many are hurting so deeply. We can't afford to turn and say, Buck up! It's fine! It is not fine. It. Is. Not. Fine. People are hurting. We all have to bear that burden. We all have to do what we can. Whatever we can. It is our responsibility. We are all connected.
I know I did rally later that night and join in the joy that Charlie felt about his day. And we can celebrate each other now too. I appreciate and celebrate the nurses and the doctors and the research scientists and molecular biologists. I celebrate the grocery store clerks and delivery people. I celebrate the military and the police officers. I celebrate those who are working so hard to just get food from the food pantry. They didn't want this. This was not their plan. We all have to do what we can. After all, one's joy affects another and another and another. We are all connected.
This is a beautiful reflection, Joannie. I remember that time well.We are really interconnected for sure. It gives me strength to know that you guys are all with Dad and me in all this. The best we can do is breathe in and out today and each day as we plug along. Thanks for writing this. Jo. MUCH PEACE, Mom
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