The Older I Get, the Fewer Things I Can Fix.

BrokenHeart

 

When my kids were little I was “the fixer”.

When they were hungry, I fed them. When they got hurt, I patched them up, I took out splinters, I held their heads when they vomited, I took them to top doctors.  When a beloved toy broke – I fixed or replaced it.

Then they went to school. And I could not fix bullying (every school lip services this crap and some kids – and adults – are just assholes).  I could not fix their math confusion (don’t look at me, I was in remedial math in fourth grade!). I could not fix teachers who should not be teachers. And I could not fix the rules that may have seemed silly to them, but as a grown up, I understood. Faced with middle school (which is really Hell) and high school now, I can’t fix crushes or lack of friends and watch as they bump up against real life. Driving lessons?  OMG!  How do parents DO this? (I am guessing any mom with a two year old having a meltdown in Walmart is asking the same question right now.) My job, after all is to “launch” them into caring, assertive, competent, and responsible humans.

But it hurts.

And now. It is not just my kids. I was pretty sick back in August. I had surgery with two complications one of which was major. I am not “over it” yet. I am still uncomfortable some days. Despite great docs. I can’t fix this. But I am slowly improving. Time will fix me.

But I don’t have time…

See, now my incredibly active, wonderfully young-for-her-age mother is ill.  And I can’t fix it. I can’t even BE THERE for her (yet) the way she was for me most of my life. I desperately reach for a magic wand (it has to be here somewhere) and a portal to travel to her RIGHT NOW. There isn’t one. I am powerless. I have to wait.

So I will. Under duress.

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