I don’t remember how the conversation started, but I do remember the point of it.
“You can’t worry,” said told me. “When my mom died, you didn’t cry. And I was so angry.” She gritted her teeth, remember her anger and frustration. “With everything that I went through, the singles and going to the hospital, you didn’t worry.” She held out her hand, flat, and moved it horizontally. “There was a calm about you. When your other grandma died, I think you shed maybe one tear. You were calm.” She stopped to compose her thoughts. “You can’t worry.” She made sure she expressed this as a positive trait. She wasn’t condemning me for it, like she did before. She sees now that it’s a good thing.
“That privilege was taken away from me when I was five,” I responded.
It was funny, peculiar, that she brought that up in that moment. For the past few weeks, leading up Mom’s one year anniversary of her Snow Scare (the seizure), I had been reflecting on that incident. Upon reflecting, I thought about my actions, my feelings, and the fact that I had put my mother into that much more debt. I would worry about everything I had put her through. And, I would cry. Sometimes I wanted to weep, sob even. But I would compose myself, telling myself that it was done and over with. But I still carried the burden.
“You can’t worry,” my mother told me.
Oh yes, I can.
With tears on the edge of my eyes, I came out and told her what I worry about. I told her of the burden I let weigh me down. I laid out the fault I called my own.
My mother turned to me and shrugged and said, “You did the most logical thing you could do. I don’t blame you for any of it.”
I knew she didn’t. I always knew. She always told me.
She shrugged again and said something to the effect of, “You can’t do anything about something you can’t do anything about.”
And she was right. We don’t have the money that I cost her. She doesn’t blame me though. If we don’t have it, we don’t have it.
Dear reader, I know it’s hard to not worry. For some people, they aren’t living unless they are worrying about something. But take my mother’s advice. You can’t do anything about something you can’t do anything about. Worrying will only give you Shingles, an alleged cancerous mass, or stress so strong it could kill you. I hate to use such strong imagery, but I’m just speaking from experience.
Please be careful. Please take a moment to relax, breathe, do what you have to, to not let things get to you too much. You’re way too valuable to let something drive you to the brink of something dangerous. Please.
Good night! Good morning! Good everything!