Every morning, my son and I stop at the gas station on our way into town. He likes to get a drink and something to eat before school. Like most teens, he doesn’t really like to take the time to make something for himself while we are home….it just isn’t cool to do that.

There is a lady behind the counter who works every weekday. We do not know her name and it is doubtful that she knows ours. What we DO know is that she is always friendly, has a beautiful smile, and has learned that Jon usually gets a breakfast burrito…so she almost always has it bagged up and ready for him when we arrive.

When we arrived at the station yesterday morning, I noticed that the bananas that they keep at the counter had become quite ripe…perfect for banana bread. Since I love to bake, I asked her how much they charge for their really ripe bananas. She sold them to me at a discount after I explained that I wanted to make bread with them.

On the way out the door this morning, I snagged the last of the banana bread that was on the counter and asked Jon if he would mind if we took it to the nice lady at the gas station. He thought it was a great idea, so we took it. When we arrived at the station, I stopped by the counter and handed the bread to the lady behind the counter with the explanation that we’d ‘taste-tested’ the other half of the loaf and wanted to share with her. She laughed and thanked us for the bread.

Jon got his drink and I stopped by the coffee bar and snagged a cup before we walked over to the counter to check out. There…on the counter….two burritos were bagged and waiting for my son. I’m no genius, but even I could tell that the total she gave us was less than what our morning stop should have actually cost. We thanked her, wished her a lovely day…and made our way out to the car.

Now, I’m fully aware that this is not a grand-scale miracle; however, it meant a lot to us. Taking her some of the bread that I’d made was just normal for us…we always share those things. Little acts of kindness toward others are one of the many practices that I’m hoping my kids learn from me because being able to make other people smile makes the world a little bit brighter and it feels good. However, we didn’t expect to see that kindness returned this way…so, in the words of my son…

‘Now that was pretty freakin’ cool’

arkmomy

         There are times when I really miss having a man in the house…this would be one of them.

         I knew that this day was coming. Every kid has to learn to drive. It is expected that parents will step up and take on this job because, after all, it is part and parcel of the parental experience.

         What nobody tells you is how this will shake you up, frighten you, cause you to question exactly how high your blood pressure can rise before you have a stroke, and make you re-examine every reason you had for procreating in the first place.

          Dear Jon is excited…Dear Mom is terrified.

         In spite of my deep-seated reservations regarding my ability to handle this task, I am teaching him to drive. For his part, he has resigned himself to my running commentary and ‘helpful hints’. For my part, I try to keep my mouth shut and let him get a feel for the task at hand.

         This morning was his first time on an interstate. We deliberately chose an early sunday because traffic is fairly light and I’d like him to become accustomed to the faster pace before he has to deal with other traffic.  We planned this, so I can only assume that it was some divine joke on a cosmic level that brought the rain. It hasn’t rained much at all this summer….but it picked the one day when we’d planned this lesson.

          In an attempt to display the confidence that went no deeper than my skin, I shrugged my shoulders in resignation and announced that the lesson would proceed as planned. I made a lame attempt to convince myself that this was the correct decision by rationalizing that he had to learn how to drive in the rain at some point, so today was as good of a time as any. Pushing aside my nerves, I took my place in the passenger seat,  walked him through the controls for the wipers and lights, and tried not to grit my teeth when he pulled out of the driveway. I fought back that niggling little headache right above my eyes as I reminded him to take it a bit more slowly because even new tires don’t grab as well when the pavement is wet.

          All in all, he did well.  I only wish that I could say the same for me. The view from the passenger seat was not only different…it was terrifying. I think that I was able to hide it fairly well since he didn’t comment on it…yet. I managed to get through the experience without digging my nails into the seat or using my imaginary brake. I think the chain-smoking helped. It’s always easier to look calm and collected when you aren’t chewing your fingers down to the knuckle…and having a ciggy in hand helps with that.

          True, he spun just a bit while turning into the hospital because he accelerated too fast on the wet pavement…but we got there in one piece. Besides, the look on his face was worth it. He was so proud of himself and couldn’t wait to tell his friends that he’d driven all the way to work in the rain. I couldn’t hold back a grin as I reminded him that he’d not only driven all the way to work in the rain…but he’d done it on the interstate.

         As we traded places at the front door to the hospital, I couldn’t help but notice that my legs seemed to be having difficulty coordinating themselves for the brief walk around the car to take over the driver’s seat. Surely they were only experiencing a momentary problem because they were unused to riding on the passenger side. That had to be it.

         So, he did it….drove all the way to work….on the interstate….in the rain…for the first time.

          ….and now I need a nap.

arkmomy

     For the most part, I could be considered a pragmatic person. The fact that I generally accept things for what they are should be enough to keep me from thoughts of ’should have done’…but it doesn’t always work.

     Do you know that I still miss you?

     Do you know that, no matter how many years may pass…it still hurts?

     Do you know that about this time every year, I wonder if there might have been something that I could have done differently to help you?

     It never really changes, you know…not in regards to you.

     Every year, when this anniversary rolls around, I can’t help but remember how very hard you fought. I remember how you held out long past the point where you would have normally given up simply because you didn’t want me to be left alone without you. I always wonder if there wasn’t something more that I could have done to save you.  I know….you always said that things were what they were and that they were beyond our capacity for understanding, much less for fixing. Sometimes the body just can’t take anymore.

     I prayed…you prayed. We trusted and believed and hoped for the best…but sometimes the best just isn’t as much as we want. We wanted to believe that we could grow old together…and it took some convincing before we finally realized that it just wasn’t in the plans. Even though I can now accept it…I still wish that it could have been different. One more treatment…just a little longer…all we needed was a transplant…but it never came.

     I couldn’t save you then…and I can’t save me now….not from this.

     I hide it fairly well and nobody seems to notice. There are those who would be happy to help me if I allowed them to do so…but I won’t let them. It is just one of those things that has to work it out. I’ll just keep reminding myself how lucky I was to have had you in my life at all….that always helps…at least a little bit. 

     Saving you from death proved impossible.

     Saving me from ’should have’  is proving problematic.

     We prayed for a miracle…but maybe our miracle was that we got to love each other.

arkmomy