On a normal library day I spend 6-8 hours sitting at my favorite microfiche scanning machine scrolling through a daily 1940’s newspaper from Shanghai. It’s long and tedious, yet exciting and sort of fun in a nerdy detective kind of way. Sometimes it’s broken up by coffee or a donut and sometimes, like today, it’s broken up by real food from upstairs like swai or bulgoki.
In that respect, today was normal, but today I didn’t sit uninterrupted, focused on columns of black and white until my eyes went buggy.
Today I didn’t stare long. Instead, I ran in and out of the room, taking calls, making calls, texting, and talking to a very nice ER doctor who ran blood tests and ordered a CT scan.
Arianna fell while standing in line at the camp coffee shop this morning. She felt dizzy, leaned against the wall for stability, then blacked out completely hitting her head hard on the pavement. They called me while I was on the beltway.
The nurse thought it was a seizure and sent her to the ER.
She’s fine. Everything went well. My cell phone that never works in the library, rung for every call (that’s a God thing), so I was able to be updated on everything going on as it was happening. She’s with two adults that I know and trust. Logically, sanely, I know that everything went exactly as it should have and that she’s in good hands.
Not-so-logically, and perhaps a bit insanely (and because I’m a mom and there’s nothing sane about that), I want to be in my car even now to get to her – to hug her, to see her, to just be present, even for a moment. She’s 12 hours away in New Hampshire.
So to add insult to injury, or frustrating mom moment to another, I decided to “be productive” and ordered those airline tickets I’ve been avoiding – the round trip for me and the one way for T.
A one-way ticket.
It sounds so scary and permanent. I don’t like it.
She’ll come home at Christmas. She may visit in the summer. But…
This. Is. Big.
This is a change, a new chapter – for her and for me, a growing up thing, a letting go thing, a trust and faith thing. A lots of Kleenex and heaps of prayer thing.
Perhaps Arianna’s fall was just a precursor, an easy trial run to a bigger “far away moment” when I just can’t be there even though every fiber of my being wants to be. Seems there are lessons in everything. In this, for all of my girls whether they’re near or far, I suppose it boils down to trust and faith.
Trust and faith in my girls.
Trust and faith in the God that entrusted them to me in the first place.
And lots of Kleenex.