When I was a kid, my sister and I were never allowed to talk-back to our parents, let alone raise our voices at them. And, to be quite honest, I can't remember ever breaking that rule, until the evening of September 11th, 2011.
Catelyn's dad and I had watched the staff rush in. We watched them determine next steps. We scurried with them down the hallway. We were there (okay, I actually sat in the hallway) when Catelyn had her CT-scan. We sat on a bench in the P-ICU while a Dr. told us something important, and the only part I can recall is him following up with, "I'm sorry I was so blunt," to which I replied, "It's okay."
Our emotions were running on high as we were moved into a different room to make phone calls. Our nurse, Bill, stood with us. My mom answered my call. I cannot recall exactly how I started our conversation, but I quickly moved to, "Catelyn's in trouble." My mom questioned, "What do you mean?" My only response was to basically repeat myself, much louder, with, "SHE'S IN TROUBLE!" Bill gently approached me and asked to speak with my mom. I gave him a brief introduction and handed the phone over.
My poor mom. Never, until that day, had I ever thought of raising my voice at her, and yet, in one desperate moment, I did the very thing I was raised not to do.
As the memories of September 11, 2011 roll through my mind, I cannot help but feel badly for having yelled at my mom. And yet, I believe, it's actually because I knew it was safe to let my emotions fly with her, that I did it.
Love you mom. Thank you for letting me yell.
