I was humbly wiping up Spaghetti-O's - and milk- and peaches- that Charlie had so kindly dumped on the floor at lunch, with a soundtrack of four toddler-to-preschool-aged children testing out their decibel capabilities in the background, when THWAK! (and yes, I said "thwak," in CAPS, as a result of superhero book saturation). I stood up in the wrong place, my forehead whacking the corner of the table. I took a moment to fall down on my knees and cry. I was tired, I was defeated by the utter mess of the house, but mostly? My head throbbed and stung so badly that I was sure I had cut my forehead. What would people think when they saw my head cut so badly? Was this going to scar? Wait- but was I even bleeding?
Too busy with my own pity party to look in the mirror, I continued my sludging through post-lunch cleaning and caught a glance of my head in the microwave's reflection. No blood. Of course. Figures. I went to the mirror. Not even a mark. My head felt like a cleaver had grazed it and throbbed for an hour later, but there was no evidence of anything but acne. And I asked myself rhetorically, as I do with every stubbed toe, every piledriver Oliver delivers me when I'm laying down, and every head bonk: why is it that the worst pain never leaves a visible injury?
An hour or so later I had all four kids sequestered for quiet time and naps, and I lay down listening to iHeart radio on my phone to relax. I began to doze, but then saw that there was a Facebook message waiting for me. I wasn't familiar with the sender, so I checked the message...and closed my eyes, pretending I hadn't just read those words. But I had. And my heart began to hurt. The message was from my friend Gin's godmother, letting me know that Gin was in the hospital and not doing well. Prayers were needed. So, for the second time today, I fell to my knees, this time in desperate prayer.
For those of you unfamiliar with her story, Gin is a friend of mine who is living with metastatic ovarian cancer. She and her husband Geoff are two of the kindest, most generous people you'd ever hope to meet. They have two beautiful children, Ella (2) and Ephraim (4). Gin's goal has been to finish her midwifery degree, which she is very close to doing. Until recently she was doing long clinical and on-call hours in addition to working as a nursing instructor, and Geoff has worked a couple of jobs at a time. They do this while making everyone around them feel loved, most especially their children.
Gin is very open about her journey and blogs at www.cisnotforcookie.blogspot.com. Her physicians have been telling her since the time of her relapse that her prognosis is very poor, but we all hold hope, so much hope, for her. Gin has plans for her future, and family in her present. I cannot tell you how my heart aches today to hear that she is not doing well. I couldn't keep running to another room to wipe my tears away, so I told Oliver, through my sobs, that Mommy is sad and crying because our friend Gin is very sick, and Mommy is worried about her. Oliver reached out and hugged me. And I hugged him back, so tightly, knowing that another little 4-year-old friend is worried about his mommy too.
The pain that doesn't result in an injury on the surface really is the kind that hurts the most.
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