Tonight, I’m thinking of Mr. R, my high school band teacher. I quit the danceline, soon after I joined because I thought the advisor was a self-centered bitch. He called me a quitter. Said I would never learn perseverance. Said that he would always see me as a quitter after that.
Perhaps that is why he never let me have first chair, even though my tone was better than the “future music major” who was my dear friend. I was better. But, I had that reputation of being a quitter.
Well, Mr. R., look at me now. I don’t GET to quit. I surely want to. I see photos of my teenager drinking orange soda — or what I like to call, “food for the Lyme”, on Facebook and I want to quit. I didn’t sign up having two chronically ill kids. I have NEVER felt so responsible as I have tonight. Big party down the alley. Figured out how to get himself invited. Wanted to have some time to be a normal kid, since our family isn’t so normal. So, he goes places with other families. And I appreciate the families who take him under their wing and help him feel normal.
Cause we all know that I don’t. I am a constant reminder. No sugar. No orange soda. No getting overtired. Start working on bedtime so we don’t have a semester like last semester. I am not just the controlling Mother, I am the reminder that he is chronically ill.
I work my ASS off to help these kids get healthy and I want to give up. I don’t want to make Mr. R. proud. I want to run like hell and deny the fact that they sick because I made them sick.
Run. Like. Hell.
But I don’t. I fight. I make decisions for them that piss them off. But I’m not looking at today. I’m looking at age 16 – 18 – 25 – 45. I’m looking ahead because that is my job.
This is my birthday week, and I want to quit.
Instead, I kiss my babies goodnight and get ready for bed. I Wonder where I got the perseverance for this fight and hope the courage is there tomorrow to do it all over again.