“Mom, did you see my goal?”
“Yes, I did. I looked up just as you came charging toward the net,” I replied, looking at him in the driver’s seat, about to charge down I-405 toward home. Then, I felt the tears well up, as I continued my thought. “You looked like you were flying, like some superhero. How’d it feel?”
He felt my emotion as directly as if I’d wrapped him a little too tightly in a blanket. Rather, he nervously endured it. “It felt great,” he smiled, knowing all of the trials we’ve endured led me to be teary.
Later on the drive home, we laughed when he missed an exit, then a U-turn, because of a grape (long story).
I cherish those moments a lot more now that I’m in my 50s — even if it means I’m a sobbing mess.
Tonight on Facebook, I watched a virtual real estate tour of a beautiful, expensive Kirkland, Wash. home. As the camera panned into and out of the palatial rooms, a nursery here, a huge, near-wraparound deck looking out toward Lake Washington, I realized I would never live there, that I made my choices, and it was done for the most part.
If I’m lucky, I’ll get to live out the remainder of my years in a roving RV, maybe a manufactured home for the mail. I’ll probably die of a heart attack somewhere between a campfire in the middle of New Mexico and the morning glories of a Nebraska dawn — with the man I’ve called my husband since Dec. 1, 1990.
It’s too late to teach my son how to play Jacks. I saw a line of snowboards in one of the rooms, and I thought, I’ll never be there when or if he learns to ride one of those things.
I’ve wasted so much of my life doing nothing. Born into this specific life with this specific body and this specific mind — a virtual prison at times.
So, I let my only son drive home after soccer practice — even though it scares me to watch him navigating traffic at over 60 mph. It’s one of the few moments I have left with this now-teenager, quality quality time, and I’ll be damned if I’ll give that up because of a little fear.
Tomorrow, I will make an appointment with a dermatologist to check out two spots on my back, one which scabs but never heals. I’ve had them since 2014.
Within a week, I’ll know what kind of 8 mm. polyp the doctor found in my ascending colon.
Today, though, I tried to enjoy the simple things. I went walking around a track. I ate an apple. I watched my son play soccer as the summer sun peeked through a line of trees.
It was nice. For awhile.