Yesterday morning I got a surprise call from my mom. She announced she was with Dad at my local airport. They had a three hour layover and wanted me to head over to see them.
If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know my mom has been very sick this past year. Sick to the point of wanting to give up. The medical professionals determined she must have a severe case of Lyme disease but couldn't land on a treatment that really helped her. Then about a month ago, she found a naturpath doctor who prescribed some kind of colloidal silver drink treatment.
It instantly made me think of that man that rubbed this medication on his skin rather than taking it internally and now he is a silverish blue color. Literally, from the top of his head to his chiny chin chin, he is a walking piece of sterling.
So, I was very thankful when I personally laid eyes on my mom and saw she was not glistening in the morning sun. But for the first time in a long, long while, the sparkle was back in her eyes and she seemed like herself.
During our conversation at the airport, she mentioned the only thing bothering her now, medically speaking, are her wrists and her hands. She thinks she might have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.
I was intrigued by this since my mom doesn't regularly do any of the activities that usually contribute to this problem. That's when she told me about how she sleeps with her hands tucked under her chin and they think that may be the cause.
Suddenly, my breath caught in my throat. I was no longer a part of a Carpel Tunnel discussion. I couldn't really focus on what she was saying at all. Something deep in my heart was triggered.
I remember being a little girl looking at my mom's hands. I wanted hands just like hers. But mine looked different. For some reason the playground topic of discussion that year centered on whose hands looked just like their mom's hands. Then some little playground sassafras announced that if your hands don't look like your mom's hands that means you were secretly adopted.
It sounds silly now. But at the time, it made me panic. I ran home that day and dug through the dining room drawer where my mom kept our important papers. I scanned my birth certificate with great fury. Everything seemed legitimate. But what if?
I'd long forgotten that childhood experience until yesterday.
When my mom talked about how she sleeps with her hands tucked under her chin, my heart warmed. I sleep the exact same way. I even made her demonstrate it in the middle of the airport. Yes, indeed something is very similar and familiar with our hands.
Then last night, after my girls were fast asleep, I quietly made my way into each of their rooms. And there before my eyes was a generational thread. Each of the them had their hands tucked underneath their chin.
And a deep sense of belonging welled up in me.
If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know my mom has been very sick this past year. Sick to the point of wanting to give up. The medical professionals determined she must have a severe case of Lyme disease but couldn't land on a treatment that really helped her. Then about a month ago, she found a naturpath doctor who prescribed some kind of colloidal silver drink treatment.
It instantly made me think of that man that rubbed this medication on his skin rather than taking it internally and now he is a silverish blue color. Literally, from the top of his head to his chiny chin chin, he is a walking piece of sterling.
So, I was very thankful when I personally laid eyes on my mom and saw she was not glistening in the morning sun. But for the first time in a long, long while, the sparkle was back in her eyes and she seemed like herself.
During our conversation at the airport, she mentioned the only thing bothering her now, medically speaking, are her wrists and her hands. She thinks she might have Carpal Tunnel Syndrome.
I was intrigued by this since my mom doesn't regularly do any of the activities that usually contribute to this problem. That's when she told me about how she sleeps with her hands tucked under her chin and they think that may be the cause.
Suddenly, my breath caught in my throat. I was no longer a part of a Carpel Tunnel discussion. I couldn't really focus on what she was saying at all. Something deep in my heart was triggered.
I remember being a little girl looking at my mom's hands. I wanted hands just like hers. But mine looked different. For some reason the playground topic of discussion that year centered on whose hands looked just like their mom's hands. Then some little playground sassafras announced that if your hands don't look like your mom's hands that means you were secretly adopted.
It sounds silly now. But at the time, it made me panic. I ran home that day and dug through the dining room drawer where my mom kept our important papers. I scanned my birth certificate with great fury. Everything seemed legitimate. But what if?
I'd long forgotten that childhood experience until yesterday.
When my mom talked about how she sleeps with her hands tucked under her chin, my heart warmed. I sleep the exact same way. I even made her demonstrate it in the middle of the airport. Yes, indeed something is very similar and familiar with our hands.
Then last night, after my girls were fast asleep, I quietly made my way into each of their rooms. And there before my eyes was a generational thread. Each of the them had their hands tucked underneath their chin.
And a deep sense of belonging welled up in me.
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