NEW MOAN YA

My son, Noah, has pneumonia and has been quite sick for over a week now. Yesterday was no different. The fever of 102º, the deep and continuous cough, and his lack of energy are making me question whether the antibiotic is working at all. Noah is eleven, but still likes to be near, and so I spent Mother’s Day entering the quarantine and being his mom.

Noah and I have been sleeping downstairs where it’s a little cooler and, at night, his fevers have been causing him to hallucinate. He has been afraid of unseen things in our family room and has had full conversations about science grades and Chase Utley with absent friends. In the midst of these moments, Noah no longer knows that his mom is with him, but I haven’t gone anywhere. On the contrary, I have sat up in the dark and listened to his chatter while quietly assuring him that his mind is playing tricks and there is nothing to fear.

I suspect that being a mom is the closest I will ever get to grasping how God feels about the world. Mind you, there are differences. I really don’t think that God ever contemplates giving me back (I could be wrong about that, however) and I am pretty sure that He can find the energy to brush His teeth, too. Yet I would also bet that He cheers when we hit homeruns, tries to keep us from wearing makeup too soon, worries when we miss curfew, and sits up all night when we’re sick.

And our minds play tricks on us a lot, don’t they? Sometimes I do battle with unseen foes and often hallucinate about people and their motives. I have even quarantined myself. It’s in the midst of this self-imposed sickness that I trip over God, because even when I’m so delusional that I forget He’s there, He hasn’t gone anywhere. “Shhh, Wendy,” He says. “There is nothing to fear.”

Going out to dinner would have been nice, having a shower would have felt good, but being there with my son in his sickness was the best. Nearness is part of Noah’s healing, and loving him is part of mine, because it helps me understand how Jesus loves me. He would do anything to make me whole and well. So, as crazy as it sounds, and I wish now that I’d gotten a card (preferably one that plays The Commodore’s “Brick House” when you open it), but “Happy belated Mother’s Day anyway, God.”