“Not much different from your past surgeries,” Dr. Ward replies to Mom directly. “We’ll prescribe pain meds for the discomfort during?—”
“No need. I won’t take any opioids.”
My eyes drift closed for a beat and I bite my tongue. I respect her reasons even if I do think she’s taking things further than necessary.
“Ahh, yes. I recall,” one surgeon chimes in. “Well, just know we won’t hesitate to prescribe them should you change your mind. Recovery from any kind of spinal surgery can be quite uncomfortable in the immediate weeks post-op.”
Mom answers resolutely, hits them with a flat stare. “I’m aware. Anyway, you were saying?”
The two doctors exchange an amused look which…same, boys, same.Stubborn woman.
“You’ll be able to go home in a matter of days. Light activity will likely be possible in the first few weeks with more strenuous activity down the road, I’d say in four to five months depending on the results we see in physical therapy. Much like you’re already accustomed to, we’ll plan on two to three PT sessions per week for the first two, maybe three months or so with added exercises at home. You’ll need to continue using the walker or the cane as your pain level requires.” He looks at me then, and I nod in understanding. “At that point, we’ll gauge your progress and determine any necessary course of action from there.”
With that, they move on to calendar planning and we settle on a surgery date four weeks from now, while I mentally log the timeline in my brain. Surgery in September. Intense physical therapy through the holidays that will roll into what we hope will be a lighter therapy protocol in the new year. What comes next is unknown until then.
As we leave the medical building and I help Mom into the passenger seat, she picks up our conversation from the waiting room like it never stopped.
I’ve barely gotten myself buckled in when she says, “Now tell me what’s going on, Son.”
My chuckle is forced. When my answer doesn’t come right away, she adds, “You wish you could be there with her.” Guilt has me reaching for her hand.
Hannah’s tearful plea before I left flashes forefront in my mind.Don’t have one foot out the door.Easier said than done when your heart longs to be two places at once.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” It’s honest, if not raw. Too raw.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, honey.” I come to a stop in the line to exit the parking garage and meet her gaze. “That’s not why I brought it up. It’s just that…I see what she means to you.” I clear my throat and look away. “It’s the sameyou know when you knowkind of thing I felt with your dad.”
My eyes flick back to her. She must sense something in my expression because her mouth tips up at the corners. No use denying it.
Turning onto the main road, I ask, “How soon did you know with Dad?”
She smiles wistfully. “One date.”
The love story of Michael and Teresa Shaw is the kind that sticks with you. Two people meet, exchange vows on an altar the following month, and welcome their first (and only) child less than a year later—it’s a whirlwind romance if you’ve ever heard one.
“Was it like that with you and Doug?”
Mom sighs, her earlier joy fading. “No, that was more of a slow burn kind of love. He had Bri, I had you, we were both widowed. It was more complicated, but just as real. Still is.”
The car goes quiet. “You miss him?”
“Every day. But I miss your father, too. Nothing will ever change that.”
The question tumbles out before I can think twice. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Manage your heart existing in two places at once.”
Mom grins. “If you think the heart is capable of existing in less than a thousand places at once, you’ve misunderstood the assignment.” I flash her a confused look. “That’s what hearts are designed to do, sweetheart. They’re not bound by time or distance, and the bigger the heart, the more capable it is of being here and there and everywhere at the same time. And you, Rowan, have the biggest heart of all. If I did everything else wrong in this life when it came to raising you, at least I got that part right.”
For the next few miles, I’m silent. Guilt and gratitude swirl inside me so I don’t know which one should mean more. I keep my eyes trained on the road and prop my elbow on the door, rub my jaw.
“Tell me something real,” Mom says.
My heart lurches. Her and me is where it all started—honesty, no holds barred.
I take a deep breath. “I hate not being there to help Hannah through this, but I’m also so thankful to be here with you and that you’re—” My voice breaks, words scraping to a whisper. “That you’re okay. But then I feel guilty. I feel guilty for the fact that you’re okay while Lydia isn’t. Guilty that I’m not there. But I know if I was there, I’d feel guilty for not being here.”