When You Want to Cry Uncle

She stands on our porch and hands me a vase of tight buds. Still green and bound together. Like an unwrapped gift on the mantle, waiting. The same way we wait for a sunrise. For the wind to change. For things to go our way. I place them on the windowsill and by morning several are open. By mid-afternoon, the whole vase is blossoming sunshine. And all I can think is how happy these blooms are, how much I hope they are an omen for better days. We need a change, a new wind, something to set a new course.

With every pause at the window, I think of the woman who trimmed these daffodils, gave them water. Is she feeling like me? Desperate for a hard wind to blow something in or out of her life? She celebrated the birthday of her only son this week. A son she lost three years ago. Too soon. Too hard.

Gaylyn knows the only way to survive misery is to look wider than the hurt. She has not allowed her suffering to become everything. She has not narrowed her focus. She still sees miracles, needs, and light. I admire her. And the courage with which she greets every morning.

She stopped by the day after I had surgery last week. Minor surgery. But a day down, with discomfort, healing, meds, and a wait for biopsy results.

That same day Spencer moved from fever to vomitting which lasted two days. Then his brother started. And we are just barely, barely, turning the corner today. Sweet Gordon (who has actually been a very ornery buckaroo) had a five day struggle to keep anything down, come and go fever, plus an earache today.

No fun with a broken leg to boot. And just this morning, when I thought we might be past it, his sister complained of stomach pain and stayed home from school.

After pulling sheets, starting another load of laundry, opening windows, and bathing the boys, I climbed into the shower and let the hot water wash it all away. The smell, the germs, the worry. The weight of trying to climb out of this hole of ill health we’ve dropped into.

Under the water, all was quiet. Under the water, I could pretend none of it was real.

This week I wanted to cry uncle, toss up my hands and give in. I’m done. I’m finished with doctors appointments eating up our days, with phone calls and scripts. I just want a healthy body, want to care for my family, want to do the usual mom things with ease, comfort, and joy.

The last five months have been dominated by unusual health concerns. Thankfully, only a few major hurdles are still ahead, and I think we’re moving in the right direction. Biopsy results came back clean. And as I hiked trail on the weekend, I realized how heavy that worry had felt. I believed the whisperings that everything would be fine. But once it really was, I felt lighter, freer, more myself.

Have you noticed this pattern in life? When you’re about to cry uncle, when you know you can’t handle one more thing, life shifts. A friend knocks on your door with Tillamook ice cream and home made hot fudge. A boy keeps his toast down. A daughter colors you a picture of a tiger and tells you what she’s learning about India. You get good news. The day warms. Things change.

Misery is a loss of perspective. And when things are hard, our view can become myopic. All we focus on is the pain in our back, the splinter in our finger, the hurt in our heart.

But peace comes from seeing the whole.

And I want to concentrate on the whole. I haven’t had time to write or process much over the last few months. But when I look back at the whole of it, the whole round of our life, it is still my promised land.

This might look like a disaster. But really, it’s a symbol of of love and selflessness.

I must have cried Uncle subconsciously, because one evening there was a knock on our door. And it was my Uncle Roger and his wife, Leslie. We were expecting new carpet to go in the basement on Friday. But Ali and Sami were being baptized Saturday morning and we needed to feed 60 people in our home following the service. Friday was the only day they could get the carpet in if we wanted it before the luncheon. So we said yes.

Thursday evening I wondered how we were going to move everything out of the basement area by morning. Enter Uncle and inspired Aunt, who had a prompting and just showed up.

“We’re here to move the stuff out of your basement area,” she said. “So let us in and show us what needs to be done!” They finished the whole thing in a couple hours. While Doug and I took care of kids, baths, homework, practicing.

They came like angels, out of the clear blue. And I was undone by their service.

I love you Roger and Leslie.

On St. Patty’s Day, Gordon got the green light to start walking. Must have been the luck o’ the Irish. Because this kid did a fair amount of galloping and adventuring on that leg, despite instructions to be non-weight bearing. But we couldn’t find small enough crutches and I just couldn’t keep him down.

New instructions: no running or jumping for six weeks. Oh me oh my. But having that splint off is mighty nice.

Over the last month he developed some impressive one-legged skills. Like climbing up on the counter, hopping himself all over the house, and jumping (of all things) on the neighbor’s trampoline! I put my foot down on that one.