Pealing into the drop off zone, my heart speeding faster than the spinning wheels, my eyes scanned for Wheels. Surging to stop outside the Swim Center, my foot hit the ground the same second I threw the car in park. The headlights flooded the steamed glass windows, making in difficult to see his little body posted up in a typical metal chair to the side of the receptionist. But even through the denseness of the fog, I could see his shoulders heaving uncontrollably and his head down on the round gray table, face covered, pressed in his hands.
Publicly broken.
My hand reached for the cold handle and I paused a millisecond to prepare. This was about to get worse.
Swinging open, my face was slammed with the stickiness of the pool, just harsh enough to scold, as the receptionist’s eyes met mine and flicked to Wheels, deepening my humiliation.
“Sweetie? Honey? I am here,” croaked from my lips.
“OH MOMMY!” he screamed in a truly scared, childish tone not utilized since entering school. He didn’t jump up, crushing me. But slowly rose from his chair, took two steps forward and stopped. His face was blotched pink and red, but his eyes were dark from rubbing. I put my hand on his shoulder and whispered “I’m sorry baby.”
And with those words, his fearful wound burst exposing the rawness of emotions. He wrapped his arms tight and low around my waist. Squeezing, as the fresh tears streaked his pale skin, eroding the previous red evidence of pain and depositing new. I just held him as people passed, staring, judging, while he sobbed. Loudly mind you, Wheels is always all in, all the time. Especially when hurting. Something to watch.
And then he said it. In between heaving sobs at midlevel roar, “Mommy? Mommy, how could you forget me? I was so scared. How could you forget me?”
The weight of his arms around my waist shrunk my soul. Holding my ground, yet still lessened. My smallness was noted by him, the people witnessing, myself. I could only think of one thing to do. I buried my nose into his soft, blonde hair and breathed him in. An action I did everyday when he was an infant, toddler even, to escape my tiredness or fearfulness of screwing him up. I breathed him in, to be reminded of his preciousness and escape the week.
All week, I had fallen into isolation. I spent the week void of other adult contact. I spent the week running for others, planning for others, playing for others, cooking for others, cleaning for others. I spent the week making promises to myself, for myself, and breaking them for others. I spent the week so consumed with whats next, I woke each morning around 3 AM, restless. And by midweek, if I had a moment, I did nothing but stare out my front window and watch the cars go by. Curious as to where they were going so quickly, so importantly. Did they see me as they passed? I didn’t really see them either, so, we’re even.
And even when all my boys were home, and as the madness and noise swirled in chaos around me, I would glance out that window and wonder. If I left, just for a day or two, could I get some sleep? Some peace? Could I watch TV all day and rest? I am so tired.
A guilty knot grew in my throat, hard and full of wallowing self-pity. I breathed him in one more time, deep, so his innocence filled my gaps, desperate to make me feel stronger. The only tear I would allow stained his hair and once again he begged, “Mommy, how could you forget me?”
Pulling back, dropping to a knee, I held his face, “Baby, I didn’t forget you. I dropped you off, and went home to eat. I just… I hadn’t eaten all day. I was hungry… I know I had never left before, I… I didn’t know practice changed… I just, wanted to eat… I am sorry, I would never forget you.”
Hugging again, my mind wholeheartedly affirmed I would never forget you, but I have to stop forgetting me too.
Mom-dern Vignettes 