Love in a Photograph–Linda Knight Seccaspina
Today I received this photo of my youngest son and his brand new baby daughter. I can feel the love between the two oozing out of the photograph. It seems like yesterday he was a small boy himself and I remember the falls, the accidents and the worries that he will have to endure with his two daughters. But, he will also have the memories, the laughter and the stories to remember just as I have now……
Aug. 6th, 2006 at 10:38 AM
Around 2:30 am this morning a large shadow lurks inside the doorway of my bedroom and wakes me up.
“Mom, Mom, have you got any tweezers?”
Mothers have to be prepared, but somehow I think I can be excused if I am not carrying tweezers in my PJ pocket at that time of the morning. The son shows me his hand that has swollen up very badly. Seems he got mixed up with some brambles and thorns on his ATV, and it is definitely causing some sort of infection.
I look for Benadryl, and within seconds he can’t move his hand and the swelling is worse. I said,
“Let’s go to the hospital”.
Now, it’s not a long journey mind you, about two blocks down the street, but the “production” must begin. I have to get dressed, haul the car out without waking up the dogs and everyone else in the house, and worry every second hoping he will be okay.
Emergency is like a ghost town, no one there, except for one lone lady at the desk. She eyes us with irritation as we disturb her reading and asks us what’s wrong. I show her my son’s hand and she asks if he has taken Benadryl. With his hand now swollen up like The Incredible Hulk I want to scream that we are beyond that at this point.
When asked to produce his health card the son has of course lost his health card and yet another hospital card. She asks if he has ever been here before. At that point I want to laugh and say,
“Yes, actually, he has been here so much as a child the doctors said they were going to name a wing after him”.
The nurse tells him to come into the emergency section and I hear Larry King interviewing Kathy Griffin on the waiting room TV. I tell him to go by himself, as if he is old enough to drink and vote he’s good! I figure if I have to be up at 3am I might as well enjoy myself, and I am actually considering it “a Saturday night out” at this point.
I don’t want to seem callous, but I have been through every disease and injury of the week with this son, so I know I can watch television in peace here. He will definitely pull through with a huge Hallelujah and some sort of prescription.
Thirty minutes later a doctor in scrubs walks by me half asleep hardly able to open his eyes. They had to call someone to come in, as someone went home sick. He looks at me with one eye open and bangs into the door frame–yes, my son will get good care here.
Ten minutes later the son comes out with a prescription for the infection. He is told the thorn is in deep and not to take it out just yet. The Larry King interview is over, we leave and drive the two blocks home. By the time we pull into the garage he is almost asleep and I am wide awake with tears coming down my face relieved that he is okay.
Being a parent can be a frustration sometimes— it’s like using a blender with no top on it, but you make do. Then you remember that years ago– both your sons’s first breaths took yours away–and it still does. You never know the love of a parent until we become parents ourselves–just like this photograph.