I’m tired. Worn out, but ever so thankful. My mother’s surgery went well, and now we are on the road to her recovery.

This journey she will affect us all. Momma will be in the hospital a while longer, and we’ll need to work our everyday lives around her care. My father has to learn how and when my mother paid bills, and my brother is on a mission to rid the family refrigerator of evil. I have to add another plate to my juggling act — balancing a full-time job, teaching, and my own family with trips to the hospital.

I am so thankful for the second chance my mother has that I’m not even worried about it. Instead, I find joys in the little things. As Momma was coming out of slumber, she dug in her ear with her pinkie, then checked under her nail for debris. I know she’s done it a million times, and it’s not all that graceful of a move, but it’s a telltale sign that she’s coming back to herself.

Daddy asked me to look in her “pocketbook” for her checks so he could send in some bills, and I needed her car keys. I opened a cosmetic bag and found keys and a bunch of change. I also found an old fortune from a fortune cookie. I keep fortunes in my coin purse too. I didn’t know she did that. I couldn’t help but smile.

I will keep you posted on our journey. I’m not sure if my five minutes challenges will even be feasible in my new environment, but something tells me they will be more important than ever.

That, however, is a task for another day. Right now, rest.

— Post From My iPhone

Hospital waiting rooms never smell right to me. The mix of families, food, and the general hospital air leave an odor that is, in a word, unpleasant.

I’m sitting in a rather comfortable chair, and I’m the only one here. Friends and family have stopped by, but now there is a lull in the visits. Dad and my brother will be back soon.

The TV is blasting Maury Povich. A former couple is slinging obscenities back and forth. Maury declares “When it comes to three-week-old Will, Tracy, you are the father!” Tracey instantly changes his tune. I’m too worn out to look for the remote or get up to change channel.

Mom will be going into surgery soon to remove a brain hemmorrage, and I am still standing on my faith. But the waiting is hard. The mind wanders, and fear fights for a prime spot in the forefront.

Yet, I remain steadfast. I will keep the faith.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

God watches over Momma. Her faith in the midst of any challenge thus far has been unwaivering, and although I haven’t made it home quite yet to see her, I know that hasn’t changed. I must continue to follow her example, and place my trust exactly where hers is, and that’s on my Lord and Savior.

My Father, I thank you for my mother, her presence in my life, the things I’ve learned from her, the things I believe I still have yet to learn. Please continue to keep your arms around her, as only you can.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

(Written on a 7:05 am flight to St. Louis)

I got a call a 4:55 this morning. “Mouse, it’s Daddy. Momma’s in the hospital.”

Whose momma? Not mine, the non-stop force of nature who is always in control. Not my momma, who could see right through my childhood tricks and whip me back into shape with a single glance. Not my momma, she’s invincible.

But it is my momma. She, like the rest of us, is human, and the body sometimes calls foul before the mind does. In her case, it’s a little of both. Her blood pressure is sky-high, and there is bleeding on the brain.

To say I’m scared is an understatement. My mind is wandering to situations and scenarios that I am unprepared to face.

I cut my business trip short, and I’m on my way home.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

I’ve been grumpy lately, and I can’t shake it. I don’t think I’ve been an absolute monster, but there’s this fine mist of uneasiness that’s been clouding my days. If you’ve ever seen a Claritin commercial, you know what I mean. The woman’s world is in color, but her allergies keep her from experiencing things in their full glory. My minor grumpiness is has lowered my optimism and shortened my patience.

Today, the mist increased to a moderate shower. I was working onsite at an event, and we were in the throes of rehearsal. My attention was needed in three places at once. I had to talk on the phone, address issues online, and stay in touch with the production team via an internal com system.

The sound team blasted music over the speakers, people were talking, and a woman came to ask me about name tags…it was just too much. I held my composure (I think), but all I wanted to do was scream.

Once the rehearsals were done and the work day was behind me, I went to dinner with a friend. Even though we were in a crowded restaurant, things seemed slower, less loud. I had one beer and a GREAT burger. After a short walk around the neighborhood, I was ready to call it a night. (This is known as Mother’s Syndrome.)

I walked into my hotel room and sat down. I didn’t turn on the TV; I just sat still. I closed my eyes and started to breathe. I took full breaths that filled my belly, just like they teach you in Yoga class. Five minutes, or maybe 10, passed before I knew it, and I felt good. No mist, no grumpies. Just me.

I know I won’t shake my mood with just five minutes of silence, but it’s a good start.

– Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone