So Much More than a Pile of Towels (Parents Helping Their Adult Children)

I walked into my kitchen today and stopped abruptly to stare at this perfectly folded pile of kitchen towels on my counter. My heart fell into my stomach and I let out a long sigh. It sounds so silly, but this neatly folded pile left me crying with nothing but gratitude and humbleness in my mind. I literally stood and stared at it for a good minute before walking away.

My mom left that neatly folded pile, right before she left with my four beautiful children to drive them to her home in the Bay Area. I am currently left in solitude, a feeling I've actually been craving, as she takes on my role of motherhood for a few days so I can focus on being there for Ty and taking a much-needed breathe for myself. My mom did this without asking for anything in return, without even pointing out to me the dozens of ways she's been helping me the past few days as Ty and I walk through cancer hell.

Both of our families lives many hours away but will show up for us in a heartbeat no matter what is going on in their busy lives. ParFor this, I am humbled and grateful.

Our family is in an extremely vulnerable state where we really don't know what we need or what we even want, but both our moms have shown up on our doorsteps seemingly knowing exactly what to do and what we need. I guess that's just what parents do, but I'm still in awe that ours seem to know exactly how to take care of their babies even though we are all grown up now. I guess a mother never stops having that instinct to care for her child, and Ty and I experienced that sacrificial love this past month.

I don't like to worry my parents so I tend to keep some things from them if it's something I know I can handle on my own, but in a moment of pure despair last week, I was curled up in my bed with uncontrollable tears streaming down my face and I texted both my parents.

The text was full of vitriol and anger and hopelessness and I felt bad for sending it to them, but I also knew that my parents would not be the least bit offended by any of it. It would hurt their hearts to know how much their daughter was hurting, because most parents know that you can't help but feel the emotional pains of your children, but I needed my mom and dad in a way I had not experienced since I was in high school.

It took some time to get a response from them, and I knew they were likely milling it over together, discussing what to do for their oldest child who is facing the impossible. They have four children and they know each of us uniquely different so their response to me needed to be discussed.

My mom called me the next day and said with confidence: "So your dad and I were thinking that I would come next Tuesday when Ty has surgery and I can stay and help you with the kids and the house until Thursday. Then I will pack up the four kids and take them back home with me so you can take care of yourself and Ty and you can meet us there when things settle. Betty (my niece) can come with me because she's really helpful with the kids."

When I heard those sweet words, I felt my entire body sigh in relief. I really did not know what I needed until my Mom called and told me her plan and it ended up being exactly what I needed. Now I should note here that I fully acknowledge that I am blessed to have a mom who thinks like this because I know full well that so many precious others in my life do not.

This My Kind of Crazy blog will be full of other articles and posts about the various conditions and disabilities Ty and me have faced in our own lives, in hopes that we can help spread the word that no family is perfect and has all sorts of different types of "crazy" in it.

However, today I am feeling especially grateful for my mom, who drove five hours at the crack of dawn simply because she knew I needed her.

She showed up like Mary Poppins herself, with the strength and energy and joyful spirit that I currently lack. She spent the past few days showering my family with the purest form of love their is and it radiated out of her and into my children and me. I never once had to ask her to help or feel obligated to thank her, as she would just look around and see what needed to be done and just do it, Like a Mother.

She saw that her firstborn was crumbling before her eyes and she showed up to rescue me from myself. She carefully pulled me back together again, knowing how fragile I am right now and that I break easily these days, and she left me feeling whole again. Yesterday, when I returned back home after five hours at the hospital waiting for Ty to have his surgery, I walked in the house as a ball of anxiety that looked like I may explode at any moment. My kids kept trying to talk to me and I'd just look at them with blank stares because I couldn't think straight enough to answer their questions. I watched in a semi-catatonic state as my mom made my kids lunches, wiped their faces, and cleaned my dirty house. All I could do was stare at my phone like it was literally a ticking time bomb as I waited for the doctor to call me back telling me that Ty had survived the surgery.

When you have anxiety, like I do, it's nearly impossible to tell your brain that the chances of your beloved husband surviving surgery as very good because your anxiety will be loudly telling you otherwise!

So, there I lay on my bed, unable to do anything but stare mindlessly at my phone watching the minutes tick by. The doctor said the surgery would take about 2.5 hours, and we were just hitting that time mark so why hadn't I gotten a text message yet from the hospital? 10 more minutes pass by without an update and my mind goes into a Red Alert state. I call the hospital, they tell me the board still shows he is still in surgery. My anxiety ramps itself up, saying "Something bad must have happened and the doctor is just trying to figure out how to tell Ty's wife. Yep, that must be it."

Then, the phone starts buzzing and the words "Santa Barbara Cottage Hospital" show up on the screen. I don't think I've ever picked up a phone so fast in my life.

When I feel those words "We just finished up and the surgery was very successful. Ty is now resting in post-op for the next couple hours and we will call you when you can come visit him."

Friends, I cannot adequately describe the sense of relief that washes over you when you've been holding your breathe for so many hours like I was. I finally exhaled and the anxiety left my body. I felt a hundred times lighter and I ran to find my mom, who was of course loading up my washing machine with my kids dirty clothes. She looked me in the eyes, bracing herself for whatever I was about to tell her, and I fell into her arms and melted into her warm embrace, telling her that Ty was ok, that the surgery was a success! We poured ourselves a glass of red wine and looked at each other with a knowing sense that this moment deserved to be celebrated and that we deserved to take a little break from the nonstop stress we've been living in.

Now, cancer is a tricky beast so we've learned to celebrate these small victories with full abundance and joyful hearts because we know we still have a long road to travel to beat this cancers butt for good.

One bright spot this cancer has given me is an acute sense of what is good and worthy of gratitude in my life. It's as if I tapped into this part of my brain that was mostly ignored and it's making me hyperaware of my life. It almost feels supernatural sometimes, to be in this state of awareness, but it's teaching me how to carry the No Good Very Bad Things and set them down for short periods of time so I can be fully appreciative and even joyful when the Amazing Good Things happen. Because in this crazy life I begrudgingly call my own, I know that both the good and the bad can exist in harmony. I'm not saying I am able to live like this daily, because I most certainly am not, but I am determined to learn how to walk this scary unpaved road we are on with as much grace and strength as I can.

And when I can't carry it all myself, I know our moms will show up to take the heaviness from us and they will carry it themselves.

Maybe I'll take a picture of this neatly folded pile of towels and have it framed as a reminder that our loved ones are showing up for us and will keep our lives together when it is clearly falling apart.