My mother just dodged a cancer scare. My uncle is in the middle of one. My brother is having heart problems, and on Sunday I rushed my 2-year-old into the ER with an allergic reaction, that, thank God, resolved itself in a few hours without much medical intervention. So far, fingers crossed, everyone is fine. But it is that time of life when I’m feeling like we’re living on very shaky foundations, and no one should be taking anything for granted.
No one does, that I know of. Take it for granted, I mean. I feel like I live among grateful people, hyper-aware of what could happen, what could have been, how blessed we are, how much worse it could be. I don’t think it is just us. Perhaps it is the age of anxiety (middle age, heh), or, at least, the age of too much media exposure. Everywhere we turn, really bad things are happening to people, and we’re forced to think, There But For The Grace of God… And look at our own blessings, and small problems, and think, phew. It’s just a follow-up colonoscopy. It’s just an ER visit. It’s just heart problems, not yet heart disease. We’re old enough to know how much worse it could be. We have long since lost the innocence and invulnerability of youth.
I’ve quoted her before, and I’ll do it many times until the end of time — Anne Lamott’s line about there only being two real prayers: “Please please please.” And “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” In the hospital with my half-naked two-year-old, getting better every minute, and her healthy sister on Sunday, I didn’t even think to pray until what I was praying for was patience. “Thank you God for keeping Anna safe. Please grant us patience as we wait for the doctor to see us and send us home.” The parking ticket in the hospital parking lot merited no prayer, only curses at humanity. And still all I could feel was grateful, and wary, braced for the next thing.
I have a lot of friends in their 30s without children, but planning to have them one day. I only bite my tongue occasionally – more likely I tell them it’s getting late. They’re still scrambling to get all the pieces in place, not yet or newly married, switching careers, seeking something important first. I get it – I’ve been there. Ultimately I was in enough of a hurry – and certain enough about wanting motherhood – to do it as a single woman, with my career strong but prohibitively demanding, all the pieces not quite in place. I couldn’t afford to wait any more, and I was ready to be a mom.
And here I am, shaky foundations, feeling both grateful and wary. Young enough to carry a sick toddler a long way, but too old to read the pediatric Tylenol dosage without a bit of arm-stretching. Thankfully (I really am often grateful) the girls are just getting old enough to help as I’m getting old enough to need it. The small things – carrying some groceries. Cleaning bits of the house. Doing up seatbelts and sandals themselves. On Mother’s Day, I had a group of single moms and their kids over for dinner, and we talked about age and energy, starting late and being grateful for what we have. The kids are older and amuse themselves for the most part now, and so we can talk about it all – the vulnerabilities of age and the preciousness of youth. And we ate and drank very sensibility, and went home early to bed.