Worrior

I don’t know when it started but I know that I began worrying at a very young age. Was there a monster under my bed? Were we lost? Did someone break in? Was someone going to kill me? Was a shark going to eat me? Would Freddy Krueger enter my nightmares? What did it feel like to get stabbed? Then, as I got older, my worries morphed. Do I have cancer? NO really, do I have cancer? Am I having a stroke? Do I have ALS? Do I have an incurable disease? Would I die an untimely death? What did I do wrong? What’s wrong with me? OhMYGOD I spelled that wrong. Then I had kids. I’ve written about it before, having kids took my worries up about a thousand notches. Worry, worry, worry. Everyone thinks I’m so damn chill. I am not. My neurons have been on fire since I was born and I have perfected the appearance of that not being the case.

Being a worrier has had its ups. I see things like me falling down the stairs after picking up my son’s ice cream cake at Dairy Queen and I remember that when I get home and need to put it in the basement freezer. I don’t know where these images come from, they just show up completely uninvited and oftentimes make me audibly gasp. If you’ve ever heard me suddenly suck in air with a strange groan or seen me randomly bless myself and/or count to seven, I just saw something bad OR I thought about something horrifically embarrassing from 2007. I credit these visions with saving my life or the lives of others. Who knows what could have happened today if I hadn’t seen a Reese’s Blizzard cake disaster on the stairs, me laying beside it with a broken neck? What would happen to my kids? Life inside my head is colorful.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day but, for me, the holiday is just about celebrating those that simply worry about and choose to nurture other humans on the daily. I know a lot of people like that and they’re not all mothers. They’re the ones who worry about what is packed for the day for the four back-to-back games, who worry about getting things done at home with limited capabilities, who worry if Mikey has someone to talk to at lunch, who worry if what they make will be enough, who worry if Molly is lonely, who worry about all the what ifs, who worry about dying, who worry if there is really a heaven they all should have been praying to all this time, and worry, worry, worry, and then worry some more. Some worriers are plagued by inaction as a result of their fears, the “worriors” are the ones who are propelled into action because they simply know that this is what needs to be done to keep the ship afloat. I don’t think this is a mother or a father thing, this is a “good human” thing. Pushing through the worry and caring, nurturing, providing, and putting a brave face on when you’re feeling anything but is badass. Worrior’s Day has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?

Last night, I looked up at the wall directly across from my bed in the room that used to be Mom and Dad’s and saw my three kids’ faces smiling, albeit toothlessly, back at me. In this house that is our home, we have weathered so much and are all a little scarred truth be told. Every single day brings a new thing to worry about. Despite all that, I shrugged and said to myself “You’ve done good” and accepted the fate of sleep. Then I dreamed of Dad, so much younger than he was in the end, sitting behind me in a Greek diner ordering eggs. This is the first dream I’ve had of him where he was not like he was in his final year of life but as he was when he smoked fat cigars and drank Grand Marnier on our back deck. You did good, Dad. I’m sure you worried about our souls as much as you cared for them. Mom too; she’s doing just fine. Happy Worrior’s Day to all you wonderfully nurturing and caring humans out there. I salute you.