A Mother's Fear
Your Teenaged Daughter is Sleeping In... You Hope
by Ali Kelly
Early this afternoon,
as I was getting ready for lunch, I realized that my
teenage daughter had yet to emerge from the hell hole
she calls her bedroom. Instead of thinking the usual
bitter thoughts about her clinically depressed
motivation levels and general slovenly ways that make
her seem genetically closer to a rat than a human
(except that unlike a rat she will soil her own
nest), I was overcome with the fear that the wounds
from her recently extracted wisdom teeth had turned
septic flooding her body with toxic poisons and she
was lying close to death, unable to call out for
help.
I dropped what I was doing and charged into her room. In my haste and panic, I tripped over the debris pile which fills the bulk of the floor space in her room and consists of every item of clothing she has worn this summer. I landed face first in the funk of a week old damp bathing suit, put my hand into a liquified banana and slammed my knee into MY lap top which she had left open on the floor. I dragged myself to my feet, reminded my self that computers are replaceable but children aren’t and, unable to take weight on my throbbing knee, hopped to her bedside.
Praying that she was alive, I shook her and shook her and shook her. There was no response. Just as I was about to give up hope and dial 911 she gave a great gasp, rolled over, opened one eye and swore quietly. And with a brief yet withering look she ordered me out of the room, added that I wasn’t to forget closing the door and gave a snort of disgust . Her eye closed and her body returned to its coma-like state.
As I sat on the toilet wrapping the tensor bandage around my leg and sipping my nerve calming medicinal drink, I sent a little thank you to the heavens. Not for a life spared but that school will be back in session in just a matter of days. Thank you for small mercies.
I dropped what I was doing and charged into her room. In my haste and panic, I tripped over the debris pile which fills the bulk of the floor space in her room and consists of every item of clothing she has worn this summer. I landed face first in the funk of a week old damp bathing suit, put my hand into a liquified banana and slammed my knee into MY lap top which she had left open on the floor. I dragged myself to my feet, reminded my self that computers are replaceable but children aren’t and, unable to take weight on my throbbing knee, hopped to her bedside.
Praying that she was alive, I shook her and shook her and shook her. There was no response. Just as I was about to give up hope and dial 911 she gave a great gasp, rolled over, opened one eye and swore quietly. And with a brief yet withering look she ordered me out of the room, added that I wasn’t to forget closing the door and gave a snort of disgust . Her eye closed and her body returned to its coma-like state.
As I sat on the toilet wrapping the tensor bandage around my leg and sipping my nerve calming medicinal drink, I sent a little thank you to the heavens. Not for a life spared but that school will be back in session in just a matter of days. Thank you for small mercies.