Healing

It's been a long time since I was this sick. Fever, a wretched sore throat, body aches, no energy, and the feeling it is never going to be over. Yeah, that's pretty sick alright. A real exercise in patience. And humility. There's a bad flu bug circulating in these here islands, and it's a real bugger. The little Pollyanna in me thinks there's a lesson in everything, and this is no exception. Being someone who too often likes to think I can function without people thank you very much, being sick is a reminder that having other people to lean on once in a while is a good thing. Like the boyfriend who brings me a grocery bag of juice, over the counter drugs, herbal tea bags, and sweet navel oranges, and gets me laughing before he leaves. The friend who emails with me about her experience with the same virus. The manager who insists I stay home and rest until the fever is down. I'd heard from others that San Juan Island is a caring place, and I've found that to be true. But it's not just the place. Being sick makes me realize it's also an adjustment in how I am living my life.


The kind of TLC mentioned above is especially meaningful to me since I had a mother who, although very smart, creative, funny, and self sacrificing, did not have much of the warm and fuzzy gene when it came to sick kids. Earlier this year, that same mother, whom I loved very much in spite of her shortcomings, made her leave of this earthly dwelling place. Or as that same very English mother would have put it, she "popped off". According to synonyms.net, synonyms for "pop off" are:  go, perish, conk, croak, pass away, cash in one's chips, kick the bucket, give-up the ghost, drop dead, exit, buy the farm, die, choke, pass, expire, snuff it, decease. But I like "popped off" the best. No nonsense and English, that was my mom. She's on my mind a lot these days, and being sick brings back memories of her, not all pleasant.


When I asked my sweetie what he remembers about being sick as a child, he told me of a concoction made for him by his mother called "milk toast". I never had that as a child, and although my mom was pretty bad at taking care of sick children, she did feed us, and I think we would have had it if that had been an English comfort food. I think it might be uniquely American, or handed down from some other country. The idea is very simple. Toast, buttered, then drowned in warm milk and sprinkled with sugar. Mmmmmm. Really? Sounds pretty awful to me, but I think it is the feeling of being cared for that makes this dish a fond memory, not the actual dish itself. The other thing my honey remembered about childhood sick days was that his mother drew the curtains so the room was darkened. But there was always a sliver of light that made it's way across the room as the day progressed. I could almost feel the quiet, peaceful, if somewhat boring, ambiance in that childhood sick room brought from the recesses of his memory. And I borrow for a moment the feelings that went along with it. The feeling of being properly nurtured. And let go of the feeling I've always associated with being sick, the feeling that I've done something terribly wrong.


Now before you say, "Talking about your childhood again? Get over it already", let me say I've heard that more than once from well meaning people. And for the most part I agree with them. At some point we all have to move on. But certain experiences are evocative of past times and the feelings that went along with those times. I view those experiences, as opportunities for healing. I agree with whoever said, "It's never too late to have a happy childhood." So this week, I've gone all out. Lots of liquids, staying in bed, moving to the couch to watch a movie, followed by more time in bed. The hardest day was day two, the day my fever was the highest. The body aches, restlessness, and inability to focus on anything more than bad daytime TV, that was really miserable. Having my dear one come by with medicine and things to eat and drink on that day was especially helpful.


Here's what I've learned. I can't go back and make my mother any more sympathetic than she was when I was a child, but I can do things in the here and now that may be outside my comfort zone, but if I'm willing to do them, I can take care of me now. Like taking someone up on the offer of assistance. Like reaching out and letting others know I am sick. Like letting go of those old messages that if I'm sick I must have done something terribly wrong. It may sound odd, but now my mom has passed over, I'm finding it easier to forgive and forget all those long ago infractions on my mother's part. She was human just as I am human. A mixture of traits, some useful, some not so useful. These days I have pictures on my bookshelves of my mother as a young woman . When I see her at her brightest and best, it's easier to let go of her less than stellar moments and remember her good traits. And take care of myself the way she would have had she had it in her.


Reflections on my own childhood would be incomplete and not quite honest if I did not think at least a little about my own performance as a parent. In lots of ways I was a pretty bad parent. I can say this now because I have a good relationship with my child, who is a wonderful person, and because I know that I, just like my own mother, did the best I could at the time. And my reactions to the sickness of my own child were pretty dysfunctional. A lot of out of perspective fear drove me in those days of raising my child and that included managing the myriad illnesses that populate a normal childhood. In the coming weeks, I'll tell you more about how out of perspective fear has impacted my life and what I am finally doing about it. Thank you for reading and have a wonderful week.


© M.E. Rollins