April 2, 2015, 6 Years Ago. Back When We took Care of Henry, and Were Driving Home. Love This Photo. Mom Looking Over My Shoulder

I suppose most of my life we've tended to mom's medical issues, especially the ones she conjured up from the handbook of medical ailments she kept at the end of the hallway. Before mom went to a doctor, she'd look at her books and figure out exactly what was wrong with her, and let us all know. "I'm suffering from lockjaw, you bra...." she'd yell, locking her jaw into place without finishing the 'ts.' Even this Friday she sent me  an article about managing her PsA in her feet, letting me know that she's finally figured out her curved toes, swollen ankles, and pain. 

My sisters and I learned quickly from her that the medical books had all the answers, and one day while exercising on the living room floor, something peculiar happened and before we knew it, we were diagnosing Casey with vaginal cancer. She didn't have it, of course, but we modeled ourselves after our mother's self diagnosis's (is that plural for diagnosis?). Cynde, at a young age, would play mom talking on the telephone air smoking a pencil, complaining to imaginary friends about what was happening to her body during her morning coffee. "Yes...yes...me, too. I think it's bunions, but it might be bone spurs. I haven't figured it out yet." 

Toes were broken regularly, and I think there's a collection of foot shoes and boots in my ol' closet, unless Cynde finally convinced mom it was okay to depart with them. "I might need them again." 

That's probably why I was sort of taken out of my ailment when Henry the Hernia arrived in 2015. I don't sit still. I don't stop. I don't do doctors, and I totally avoid medicine. But, at an art show in Bridgeport, I passed out from pain. I knew I had to see a surgeon, and did...this, of course after I ran 7 miles and did more damage. I thought the passing out was a fluke.

Cynde and mom came to the rescue. They sat and waited while I had the surgery. I was higher than a kite when I departed and talked Cynde's ears off, as she slept in the blo- up mattress next to my bed. I could have talked all night. They set me up with food, then departed as soon as they came, leaving Chitunga to drive me to work, carry my bags, and keep my pace until I could do it on my own. 

Yesterday, after a 7-hour NWP conference (which rocked, by the way), I thought about today and how this photo captures so much. Moms are the ones that, no matter what, are always looking out for you. They're over your shoulder, worrying, wondering, making sure that everything is okay. This is exactly what she was doing as Cynde drove us home from the hospital.

My poor mom endures a lot from me...always has...because I have a sense of humor, we're both storytellers...and I'm an imp. My two sisters and I could fill a year's worth of blogging simply by posting photographs we've taken of mom over the years. It's not that she means to, but she might be the least photogenic human being that has ever lived. Something always goes amok no matter how much we prep her that a photo is coming. 

Here, though, she was captured....being a loving, caring, thoughtful, and worried mom, and I love her for that. She's the one that checks on us all, through thick and thin, always making sure our days or weeks are okay. 

I am extremely thankful, and I love her for who she is and has always been for all of us.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom. I'll call later today.