I grew up in what now I know was an average home with an average family. In another word, dysfunctional. My parents loved us but as many parents, my self included, didn't have all the tools to be what they wanted to be. I am the youngest child of 4 with a slightly longer gap in age between me and the other kids.
Growing up in middle-class America in the 1960-70 era was pretty cool. We played outside all day every day all summer. Our parent knew we were safe as long as we didn't venture off our block. Everyone played with everyone. No one cared what your religion was or how much your dad made a year. Most moms stayed at home. My mom worked. Well, all moms worked it's just that back then people didn't feel that staying at home raising a family, doing the cooking and the cleaning and the like was work. Mom's took care of the house, Dad's did the lawn, fixed the car and went to a job outside the home to earn money for the family. We had cook outs and sleep-overs, camped in the back yard, late night games of kick the can or hide and seek. Fond memories come to mind of the older kids stealing a massive wooded spool from the ComEd facility near the neighborhood. It was used to hold what we would now think of as cable type lines. The center of the spool could be opened by removing a panel. Pillows were added to line the inside for safety.. ok, right. Then one of us would climb in and be rolled up and down the block. If I had to compare it to anything else it would be the equivalent of being placed in a dryer and run through a fluff cycle. One problem was you had to brace yourself so you didn't fall out of the opening. I'm telling you all this only as an observer as I never actually rode the spool. My brother and sister wouldn't let me. I was too small, too young, too much their baby sister to be put in that dangerous situation. The same held true when they lite bottle rockets or snuck in to our little town without permission. Or when things between my parents erupted. I was being sheltered. It wasn't until later that I understood this was out of pure love and admiration.. back then they were just mean, old, big, dumb, stupid.. you know where I'm going. My fate was sealed... I would always be the baby sister, nothing could change that. But they were always going to believe it was their job to shelter me from the storms of life.
When I called one of my sisters, to tell her of the situation I was in with my husband and that he was dying, her reaction was, as I knew it would be, "I'm on my way". "No" I told her. Just let Mom and Dad know and tell the family. Again she said she could be there as fast as she could legally drive... I thanked her, I think and asked that she stay available but not yet make the trip. I needed her, and all of my family but I could not afford to be sheltered from this situation. I had to rearrange the stars and become the grown up that my family never saw me as. I needed to not be the baby. Ultimately my brother and sisters didn't listen to my day long request to not come in to be with me and I will be forever thankful... but did come hide out in a nearby town.. ready at the gate when I needed them. When I contacted them in the late afternoon, I expected them to be arriving in a few hours..they were there in 15 minutes. My fear of falling apart when the girls arrived was unfounded. I remained calm. I sheltered them from my pain. I comforted them. I was the grown up and it felt good. My brother is another story. We are so different, yet exactly the same. But he and I crossed new paths and I believe gained a new understanding and respect for each other. I remained the grown up and totally in control until a few days later, after my husband had passed and my parents arrived. I was sad with my dad, but when I saw my mom and she said my name... time reversed. I held her and sobbed. My whole body hurt with the pain of loosing my precious husband and she knew. I became the baby again and my mom was there to be just that... my mom. I will forever hold that moment so very close to my heart as dearly as the birth of my children and the peaceful moment as I watch the last breaths leave my husband.
A few month later I was thinking about those few days and replaying the events in my mind as I have done a thousand times. I was feeling as though all of this had made me better. A stronger woman. I felt as though the playing field of my family dynamic was somewhat level now. My sister called on a Sunday afternoon, I was at work so, I knew. Something had happened. She hemmed and hawed, not like her at all. My dad was sick, very, very sick she told me. He was in the ICU and they didn't know what was wrong. I asked questions, fresh from my ICU experience, I had a fingernails worth of knowledge on what to ask, but needed to get some perspective on the illness. Again she danced around the answer. Was he breathing on his own? Again, not an answer. She suggested I get there as soon as possible. We hung up and I went back to work. My head was spinning. Damn it. How could they all do this to me? Didn't my dad know I was still not ok? Who did he think he was. My cell rang again. It was my sister. I was sure she was calling to say my dad was dead. If I don't answer it... he can't be dead. But I did answer it. It was my nephew,a 3rd year redident calling to answer my questions. Thank God. I found out what I needed to and he suggested not making the trip until the morning. I made the trip and met my family at the hospital the next day. As I walked in to ICU... the smell or actually lack ofsmell bothered me immensely. I avoided eye contact in an ill-fated attempt to shelter my self. When I saw my dad, he was so heavily medicated that he was out of it. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to slap him and ask him what the hell he thought he was doing. I wanted to ask if he was doing this for attention. I knew he wasn't but that's what I thought. I walked towards him, keenly aware that all eyes were on me. My mom, sisters and brother were all watching to see what I would do. Would I crumble and revert back to being the care needing baby sister? I so wanted to put my hand in my dad's but was terrified. Terrified that it would be cold. Terrified that he would not squeeze or hold my hand. My husbands hands were so cold, and he never did squeeze back. I slipped my hand in Dad's. It was so nice and warm, He held my hand and held it long and hard. This was a horrible mix of emotions. I was so relieved but so angry. While this was great... it wasn't the hand I wanted to be holding.
A few hours later, after tests had been run and long after mass amounts of antibiotic has been pumped in to my dad, he opened his eyes and with great clarity asked for a glass of juice. The crisis had passed. He was still very ill with a blood infection throughout his body, but he would survive. As we were all rejoicing, my dad lovinly looked at my mom and said, "oh honey, I'm so sorry I scared you". For the first and I pray only time in my life I was jealous of my mother. She's old... she's been married for 50+ years why did she get to have her husband wake up and apologize and I didn't? I was so angry. I took the 3 hour drive home shortly after that. Again the car is my confessional. I screamed and cried at why she (my mom) got to have what I so desperately wanted and needed. I didn't call my mom or dad for a few days, preferring to get the medicalupdates from my sisters. It wasn't until a few weeks ago that I spoke to my dad. We sat down at a birthday party together. In my new grownup states I told him and my mom how I felt. My dad told me that he was scared when he began feeling sick. Scared for me. He was scared when he felt my hand slid into his. Scared that if he didn't try hard enough to get better, what would happened to his baby. My mom told me she didn't want anyone to call me when the crisis began. It wasn't until a trusted friend and doctor at the hospital told her she had to call me, was I notified. We cried, laughed and accepted what had happened. I extracted a promise from both of them that I will hold them to forever. They will never ever get sick again and they will never shelter me from the good, bad and/or ugly of life. I expect them to keep that promise for another 30 or 40 years.
I hope so...
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