Who Had Me at 40

I'm writing this because I have to. If I don't, I won't eat anything today.

Where was I when things got difficult with my family? In this recent terrifying episode with my mother - which I'm in the middle of at the moment - I was here, where I chose to be, where I felt my obligation was...to Playhouse West and the little theater company who vaguely recognizes me. I was here.

My mother, a month ago, fell outside her house and crawled to my sister's front door for help. She fell two more times that weekend. She saw her doctor, but still, she has spent the last month in excrutiating pain, and the past two weeks she was, for the most part, in bed. It's been a round the clock responsibility of the immediate family to visit her and take care of her; My father and two sisters have done everything I wish I could do to help. The only thing I could do has been to call her and ask her about the rest of the family, ask her about her health, and to update her on things happening out here. But where was I? I was right here.

My mother is 78 (soon to be 79). She had me when she was 40, after coming to the U.S. from Argentina. She is part of what I consider my unique treasure: My two sisters, my father, and my mother are also my closest friends, and as different as all four of them are, they do so much for the family and sacrifice so much for each other, that when one part of that circle is ailing, everyone suffers. I have such a great time when I'm around her. To this day, the only person I have ever been able to spend time with in any museum has been my mother (We saw the King Tut exhibit last December). The saint lying in a hospital bed right now is the warmest, most gentle source of love that I know. Both of my sisters and my father have amazingly attended to her with that kind of reverence.

What we just found out - what the doctor did not catch - is that in the series of falls, my mother fractured her hip, tore both meniscus in her knee, and strained a tendon in the same knee. She suffered for a month needlessly, and we're waiting to find out when she's going to be operated on. Everyone agrees that I shouldn't fly out there right now, and I'm endlessly distracted.

Once we're past the surgery, then it's all about rehab. How difficult will this be on both of my parents? Will some of the intangibles within the family that have mended themselves for the moment start to heal? Some of the other things that are wrong...some things that have been violently wrong for a long time now, probably can't be fixed. As for the rest...somehow, once we step through the window of surgery, I feel like the handful of us who have pulled together can make something happen. There is still a lot of love in the core.

I'm hoping this will clear my mind a little so I'll eat something today, but to be honest with you, I'm scared. Wouldn't you be?