A Note to My Mother
In a little over a week I will turn 45. Yet tonight I remembered being 6. I remembered those nights when I’d wet my bed. I’d call out for you and you’d appear in seconds. Before I knew it, I was safely tucked back into my dry, cozy bed.
What my 6 yr old self didn’t know but my soon-to-be 45 yr old self realized tonight, all too vividly, was what were likely the truer series of events …
You had probably just fallen asleep.
I called out to you.
You ran into my room.
Seeing me crying, you lifted me from my bed.
I continued to pee all over you, the carpet, the hallway, the bathroom.
You peeled off my soaked clothes.
You sponged me down as best you could.
Perhaps, in the process I told you off and even punched you.
You put fresh pjs on me.
I didn’t want those pjs.
I told you off, and punched you again.
You laid me in your bed.
While I fell back to sleep in your bed, you:
Stripped my sheets,
Remade my bed,
Scrubbed the carpet clean,
Mopped the hallway floor,
Mopped the bathroom floor,
Stripped off your urine soaked clothes,
Soaked all of the above, including yourself,
… and gently placed me back into my fresh, clean bed — where I once again felt safe and secure.
Thank you Mom.
Karma truly is a bitch.