ParentsSubmitted by Ducky at 2009-08-08 09:32:04 EDT
Rating: 1.53 on 18 ratings (18 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
When I was a little kid, I would wake up in the middle of the night and hear my father playing Jim Croce songs in the living room on his guitar. I’d sit next to him and sing along despite not knowing all the words until I’d inevitably look up to see my mum, sleepy and leaning up against the hallway doorjamb in her pajamas, with the look that said it was time for me to go back to bed. I love those memories.
Like the fool I am and I’ll always be, I’ve got a dream…I’ve got a dream….
I had ear surgery quite a few years ago. The surgeon wrapped a bandage around my forehead so tightly that it pushed my eyebrows down and gave me a distinct mentalist look…I remember my best friend coming in to see me just after I woke up…all I wanted in the world was a cigarette and despite her better judgment she let me come down and have one with her. I sat with my IV stand and lit up…two seconds later I was nauseous and dry heaving into an old flower pot-come-ashtray. Let’s get you inside she said. I looked at the hospital entrance, which was about 20 feet away, and told her to go on without me, that I couldn’t make it. A slick of sweat instantly formed on my back and asking me to walk to the doors seemed as daunting as being asked to summit Kilimanjaro.
Don’t be retarded…we’re going inside.
But…but it’s…it’s too far…
Dude - don’t be gay.
Okay….okay okay okay oka…(I think I may have spaced out here).
OKAY STOP BEING RUDE I’LL TRY.
Staggering, I made it into the elevator and promptly got the spins – equilibrium problems and all…I “stood” there, all of my weight on my IV pole, using it to marginally hold me up as my legs gave out…deranged head bandage and all…making grunting sobbing sounds to the other people in the elevator – god there were other people in the elevator *shakes head* - wearing one of those breezy gowns…you know the ones. It was not my proudest moment.
Later that night I couldn’t sleep and found myself wandering aimlessly around the house, crying sporadically over nothing in particular other than maybe I was having a bit of a pity party for myself. I now attribute it to the anesthetic working its way out of my body…I’m not a weepy person, unless I poke myself in the eye with a straw or am held down by my girthy aunt while she forcefully tweezes my eyebrows which is more of a nerve ending thing anyways…and a crushing thing.
A nerve ending and a crushing thing.
Regardless, I was sobbing and my beautiful mother woke up and made me some hot lemon tea, put some blankets and pillows on the couch, and sat with her arm around me until 5:30 in the morning when I finally fell asleep.
She’s the best person I know.