There are times when it sneaks up on you - your motherless status. Everything is singing along and then you realize that somehow you've gotten to 30 thousand feet and you look down to realize you're flying at the same moment you realize it's impossible. 'Help!', you think. But there is no one there for you.
I have cultivated mothers. Mostly by accident. Serendipitous women that have come along and helped smooth the rough hole. Some old, some young, all wonderous bricks in the 'me' I've had to build. You all know who you are and you know I'm thankful.
So my darling friend calls me today. Her babe is really sick. She is, too, but that almost is beside the point. She has to make the call about calling the doctor and perhaps a trip to the ER. The nurse gets back to her, is noncommittal, and so my darling friend has to make the decision. She has to make the decision.
We speak. She carefully weighs the facts, the numbers, her feelings, the distress which cannot be voiced by her babe - and decides to head into the Emergency Room.
I tell her it's exactly what I would do. She is thankful to me for saying so. She wasn't sure she was right. Was she overreacting? Should she wait? Should she have waited so long? ... She is comforted knowing I would do the same thing. We tend to validate one another's instincts. Because we're both motherless.
You're singing along, 30 thousand feet, and you wonder how it is all possible. It probably isn't possible but somehow, together, we make it through.