Words not said

I remember, perhaps more vividly than anything else in regards to my early years, how good my mom was at taking care of me when I was sick. I remember how worried she would look when I told her I didn't feel well, how urgently she would talk to the doctor about my symptoms, how no matter what time of night it was she was always there, usually with a wet washcloth. She had this nurturing instinct kick in and take over until we were better enough to drive her crazy again. (Not to say the nurturing wasn't there always, it just came on more strongly during illness, right mom? :)

After I got married, I missed her terribly when I was sick. No matter how hard he tried, my dear husband was just not that good at nursing me back to health, and I'm not sure how hard he tried. He would get pretty discouraged when I called my mom right as soon as I felt a twinge of sick. What's she going to do when she's TWO HOURS away? he would ask.

And it wasn't what she did that I craved. It was that deep rooted sympathy I was in need of. She would listen as I rattled off my symptoms. She would offer her advice, which usually included ibuprofen, a call to the doctor, and a blessing. Then she always said something to the effect of, "Poor baby, I'm sorry you're sick" and that was all I really wanted.

As I sit here and nurse my own brood, I hope they feel that way about me. I hope they will call me 20 years from now, when they have a life or a family of their own, just to hear me say "I'm so sorry you're sick." And I hope they know that means "I love you".