Saturday, October 20, 2012

And I Found Out Later

When I was growing up, "I don't feel well" had to be accompanied by something sufficiently measurable and sufficiently big to qualify for staying home from school. I remember such an illness when I was in high school and stayed home. Strep, I think. At any rate, I was so miserable, so feverish, so exhausted, and just laid in bed drifting in and out of consciousness for a few days.

Then Mom came in and woke me. I couldn't understand all that she was saying, but figured out she was telling me to get up. What was up with that?? The house rule was that we had to be really sick to stay home, and mine clearly qualified. I argued with her, but weakly and briefly. I just didn't have it in me. It hurt to talk, and I was about to fall asleep again mid-sentence. Mom, both sympathetic and unyielding, bundled me up and put me in the car. I was asleep when we arrived at our destination -- an unfamiliar place located (I discovered eventually) a few minutes down the road. She led me into what looked like a guest room and got me settled in there. I concluded that she was visiting a friend and didn't want to leave me at home alone. Confused, weary and still a little annoyed, I slipped quickly again into sleep, waking periodically with the disorientation of illness compounded by unfamiliar surroundings.

It could have been hours that had passed, or days, I didn't know -- I was still in the same bed, in the same unfamiliar room. But my body fought the infection as I slept, and I gradually shifted back again toward coherence.

And then I discovered that my family had moved.

And I had moved. Or, more accurately, I had been moved.

My family started living in a different house, and I found out later.

From what I reasoned out afterwards, my mom had been packing up the house while I was sick in bed. When the day came to move, she took stuff to the new place down the road and got my room all set up, then returned to move me over. Once she'd gotten me settled in to my new room, she (and Dad joining her after work, presumably, especially with furniture) continued her task of moving everything else. By the time my mental fog started to lift, it was all done and looked like we'd been living in this new place for years.

It's no wonder I was confused.

And while I thought at the time that Mom was being unfair and unreasonable, I was so wrong. Though not appreciated in the moment, she was quietly doing her thing and being amazing as she did it!

I'm admittedly still fuzzy on the details of those days. It's surreal enough that I have doubts, especially given my mental state in those days. But at the same time, it makes sense from what I know, especially of my mom -- a creative and determined woman who works hard, overcomes obstacles, and nurtures others along the way.

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