It was the first thing I saw when I walked into my kitchen early that morning.
Alone on the kitchen counter, a notebook-sized piece of paper caught my eye. It was an informal, hastily drawn chart I had made for myself the evening before so I could remember to take my newly prescribed meds for a killer sinus infection I was experiencing.
And strangely enough, the sight of it provoked unbridled joy.
“Why?” I wondered. “Makes no sense.”
And then I remembered fully and clearly: whenever I got sick, my mother would whip out a Bic ball point pen and a scribble pad and make a list of the meds our pediatrician had prescribed and what time I needed to take them. Her handwriting was beautiful, adorned with exquisite flourishes.
I got histoplasmosis when I was seven years of age. Most people have no idea what that disease is, but if you live in the Ohio River Valley, you are probably familiar with it. Quite simply, it’s a fungal infection that can invade the lungs and cause long term weakened immune systems. If left untreated, it can be fatal.
I’m sure my parents were totally freaked at my diagnosis.
I don’t remember much about it except that my chest hurt a lot from my incessant coughing, my throat was excruciatingly sore and a hospital truck came three times weekly to deliver a variety of meds and treatments – including detailed directives for administration.
My mom, to ease her own anxiety and to be sure I received maximum good care, listened intently to the instructions. She then did what she always did when my brother and I were sick: she put together an organized chart detailing which meds should be taken when. And posted it on the refrigerator. She was very predictable when it came to eliminating her children’s nasty ailments.
And I knew then, that in spite of my feeling miserable, my mom would take care of me. My mom would make it all go away so I could attend my Brownie troop’s cook-out and a play date with my friend Faye.
Did I I attend the cook-out and gorge on s’mores? Did I keep my play date with Faye? I don’t remember. But I do remember vividly the diligence my mother displayed when following my charted med routine.
I’m soon turning seventy-seven and my mom has been gone many years. But in that quiet early morning moment, just a few days ago, when I gazed intently at my medicine chart, I felt her still hovering close by and taking care of me.
Keep Preserving Your Bloom,
