When I had the second-try biopsy it was the same routine. My doctor’s office would call me with results in 3 days to 3 weeks. Well here it is 3 business days with a weekend in between and I got the call. All’s well. I’ve still got a lumpy thyroid, but the lumps (nodules) are benign. I’m fine and dandy. Now back to the more pressing stresses of life.
Kidding! I don’t have any stress. Kidding again. I have 4 kids (plus). Of course I have stress. But that reminds me of a real life story. Back in the sixties when my parents were raising seven children our family had a reputation. My parents’ marital bliss was a marvel, and we, their offspring, were known as those nice Bruce children. Mom and Dad were lucky to have such good kids.
Then came the seventies and a move from our rural/suburban neighborhood to a university town. A friend of mine from grade school days came to visit me at the university. She went home with a great story to tell. She had been a little hellion whose exasperated parents implored, “why can’t you be like those nice Bruce children?”. So she delighted in telling her parents the end of that story. “Half-way grown up now,” she gleefully reported, “let me tell you about those wonderful Bruce children. One’s a hippy, one got married at 18, one has truancy issues, and on it went. Yes, we all gave Mom & Dad fits in one way or another…indeed, those wonderful Bruce children. Seven children underfoot was nothing compared to seven teens sprouting wings. And the teen years were nothing compared to adulthood. In turn, we each contributed to Mother and Dad’s sleepless nights, chest pains, grey hair and wrinkles.
But of course that wasn’t the end of our story. Surprisingly we eventually all became responsible citizens. Through the seventies, eighties, and nineties we all married. Some married more than once. Most had kids. I know we brought a lot of joy, happiness and blessing to our parents. And we brought trials, countless worries, and bouts of sadness. They loved us through it all — each and everyone of us. That’s part of the parenthood deal. They’re yours, gotta love ’em. Truth be told, you can’t help but love them.
Losing one of them, which my parents did, is the ultimate grief. I can’t even imagine and hope I never know that kind of sorrow.
My life is good. I’ve got the blessing and bane of 4 (plus) children. And I love them. I wonder if they know how much.