With Dylan being under the weather all week, I found myself thinking of the many times I was ill as a child, and how Mom always made it better. A cold cloth on my forehead when I was burning up, a small bowl of chicken noodle soup when I was recovering from a stomach flu, or the way she tucked me in when I was confined to the bed for the day.
I have one very specific memory of having battled a high fever, laid out on the living room sofa so Mom could keep a closer eye on me. Hallucinating, in and out of sleep, I was pretty disoriented when the fever finally broke. I might have been 7 or 8 at the time, but I got up, feeling lucid and in control of my faculties for the first time in days, and wandered about the house trying to find my family.
I looked outside, and saw that many of them were hanging out on the front lawn, sitting on a blanket in the shade of the tree on a hot seemingly summer day. In a daze I floated out there, unable to process whether it was morning or afternoon, not even sure what day it was - it was as if walking through a dream.
There have only been a handful of times in my life when I was that discombobulated, but the fact that Mom was among the people sitting out on that blanket was all the anchor I needed to pull myself back to reality.
Memories are funny things. Sometimes they are foggy and without form. Other times they are crisp and clear, full of definition and sensations. Emerging from that feverish fog and finding a spot on that blanket, I can still feel the heat of the day, smell the fresh air, and recall looking up at the sun trying to figure out "when" I was and how I got there. I have never tried recreational drugs, but I imagine the experience might be quite similar.
To all the mothers who have guided their children through the fog and enabled safe passage to destinations unknown, HAPPY MOTHERS DAY.