Tag! Someone Else Can Be "It"

I remember.  I remember all too well, actually. I remember how safe and how comfortable my mom made the rest of us felt when she went to get her knee replaced. She shrugged it off as no bigger than the average dental appointment. And because she was so casual … so nonchalant about it, I guess I didn’t think about it as being a big deal. I mean – I realized that not everyone gets fake knees at any age, let alone in their 70s, but still … she didn’t seem even remotely concerned about the actual procedure OR the recovery and so the rest of the family didn’t … or, at least, I didn’t … consider anything outside of the “get surgery, recover, rehab, carry forth” circle. Naive? Perhaps. But if the individual going through the process is fine with everything, what was my getting too worked up gonna do, except to freak her out?

And a year or so later, she had the other knee replaced. And the combo of it being a now familiar process as well as the continued non-freak-out-ed-ness of the patient once again made it easier for those supporting her to keep it low-key.

Now keeping in mind that my mother’s personality tends to default to “comforter, safe-harborer, caregiver, listener of woes and burdens, lightener of troubles and cares”, it’s more than probable that she *was* completely freaked out and wasn’t going to bother the rest of us with her concerns or worries. But that kind of “keeping fears to yourself” thing can bring on ulcers, cause nightmares, etc. And what IS family for if not for leaning on? Maybe she felt that she’d lean too hard, or that we wouldn’t be able to provide enough strength to calm her fears.

In any event, I’ve always been more like my father than my mother. And I’ve had plenty of opportunity to prove it as of late. Keep my fears, worries, concerns to myself? Hell no! While being careful to suppress the urge to run about like a headless chicken (‘tho believe me I’ve had my missing cranium fowl moments), I feel I’ve been far more Drama-Queen-esque about the status quo than is necessary. Certainly more than my own mother was.

So when I was told today about coming off as “being brave” about something? I laughed. And not a polite “tut tut” bashful kind of laugh. No, it was a verbal explosion of a snort/guffaw combo. The truth of the matter is that I don’t know enough to be brave. I don’t even know enough to be in denial. Numbness maybe … yeah, I can safely say I’m numb. Tell me that I’m “handling everything so well” and I’ll respond – honestly – that I’m not handling a damn thing.

Yanno that child that closes their eyes and says “Ha ha - you can’t see me!”? That’s who I am. I’ll open my eyes at some point … but only when I’m ready.