"Mother Is the Word for God..."
I don’t want to get into it here, but I can’t write anything else and I refuse to skip a day, so here we are. My Mom’s surgery just finished hour five and all pre op appointments said it would only be four. I didn’t sleep last night, because I was worried about this, and when my body finally passed out for a couple of hours this morning (after I hugged her bye) I had the worst fuckin’ nightmare I can remember and that’s saying something. (I’m still not quite over it, to be honest)
So after talking about some family history with my sister and a couple of aunts via the magic of our cell phones, and we still had two hours before the original projected time, I started looking for something to distract myself with. It’s at this point I remembered I had a project to work on. A project my Mom had assigned to me when I came home a few days ago. Repaint a statue of the Virgin Mary.
I had started and stopped on this thing for the last few days, namely out of frustration with the scale and my lack of proper tools. (I flew home, so I didn’t bring any of painting supplies with me) but now seemed like a good enough time to dig into the work. It was as I started touching up some of the details that I remembered she had mentioned part of the reason she wanted me to paint it was so I could relax. And it hit me pretty hard, the sudden insight that my Mom probably knows me better than I’ve ever given her credit for. Did she know I’d be this on edge? That I’d need something to focus on while she was under?
I intend to ask her. And I intend to show her the finished project. It’s not done yet, I have flowers and an angel to paint, but hopefully she likes it. Hour five… I am not a praying man anymore, but in times like these, boy do I understand people who are.