I remember, very clearly, being 12-years-old and riding in a car down Rich Road in DeKalb, Illinois, on my way to my Uncle Kim’s funeral. As we drove by, I saw a family out in their yard, mowing, playing and, generally, having fun. I was aghast. I turned to tell my dad to stop the car so I could get out and explain to this family what was going on. They obviously didn’t realize what had happened. I ended up not telling my dad anything because my mom was crying. I just turned back to the window and tried to telepathically communicate to those miscreants the significance of the day.
I am still offended when I think of that day. I know what I experienced was a visceral, irrational offense, but still … my mom was crying. How could they not know?
Twenty-eight years later, I like to think I have gained some perspective and, hopefully a little wisdom. But the 12-year-old in me still reacts very viscerally when “the world keeps on spinning” – even when it is my own body acting with a complete lack of consideration.
I was diagnosed last week with bronchitis and a sinusitis, for which I am being treated with an inhaler and antibiotics. Moving is much harder when you cannot breathe. I guess I am feeling better, but I am still not feeling great.
My husband, Denny, went out to the mailbox yesterday and found a notice from our new school district stating that we needed to get paperwork filled out and submitted by today or we would have to do walk in registration in August. Not a big deal unless I wanted my middle daughter, Josephine, to be able to continue to participate in the gifted education program.
Meanwhile, my youngest daughter, Gwynneth, is experiencing what I thought to be an adverse reaction to bug bites, so off to the doctor we went. They have preliminarily diagnosed her with erythema multiforme, had to draw six vials of blood and told me to get into a dermatologist a.s.a.p. They will most likely want to do a biopsy. It might be nothing, but might be something awful. We won’t know until we get some test results back.
Have you ever tried to get in to see a dermatologist as a new patient? Standard is four to six weeks out for new patient appointments. I have one appointment for next Tuesday and am currently on three “will-call-if-we-get-a-cancelation” lists.
When I finally sat down last night, both physically and emotionally spent, Josephine called. She is attending the Joseph Baldwin Academy, a program that invites students to spend three weeks as college freshman, living in a dorm, attending class, etc. There was a fire in her dormitory yesterday. She is fine, but it freaked her out.
She called back about an hour later, around 11 p.m. She wanted to let me know that she was okay. They had to spend an hour in the basement, but the tornado passed to the south of them. The tornado...after the fire.
I woke up this morning to a rather large, dead willow branch lying over the gate of my wooden fence. We had a storm last night.
On top of all this, the credit card companies are still expecting to be paid. I just found out we have "a water softener guy," because he just stopped by to check on our salt levels. The utilities are still due.
COME ON PEOPLE! Seriously. This is too much.
The rational Maria that lives somewhere closer to the surface of my consciousness than the 1982 version begs for perspective: no one died, my bronchitis is getting better, all three kids got registered, we have healthcare that allows for Gwynneth to get the care and tests she needs (even if we have to wait), Josephine was not hurt and lost no property in the fire, the tornado passed to the south of her building, the willow branch did not hit the house, the damage to the fence was minor, the bills can be paid (as soon as we find them) and the utilities are still on. To the rational Maria, I point out that I am very grateful.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I want to scream, “STOP THE CAR!” My jaw is once again in my lap, only this time
I am the mom in the front seat with tears in her eyes – and stopping is still not an option.
Originally published June 15, 2011 - © 2025 Maria L. P. Boynton, All Rights Reserved.
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