How to Survive a Tree Falling on You - Track #9

Six days after my accident, I was scheduled to have surgery on my broken ankle.

The night before, I couldn’t sleep. Part of it was was the nerve pain in my arm, part of it was the guy across the hall yelling throughout the night, and part of it was nervousness about my first surgery.

That next morning when my mom came to see me before surgery I told her that I had a rough night and needed some extra love.

She nodded and told me that they were going to do the surgery, and after that, my foot would be in a splint for two to three weeks, and after that it would be in a boot for eight weeks, and after that I could start bearing weight on my foot.

I shook my head and said “No. I need some love.”

My mom stared at me.

“Come over here, kiss me on the forehead, and tell me ‘everything is going to be alright’” I said to her emphatically.

She came over and lovingly laughed at her daughter as she kissed me.

“That’s what I like to see. People asking for what they need.” The nurse who had been quietly entering my vitals into the system shared his approval of our interaction.

It was such a small moment but it revealed so much.

It showed me how different the meaning of “Love” was between my mom and I. For her, love meant giving me all the information I needed to know what was going on (so I could make decisions and advocate for myself). For me, Love meant emotional comfort and safety.

In that moment, I realized that this different definition of Love had been there this whole time. I mean I knew she loved me. But in that moment, this subtle chasm I’d always felt, was bridged. My whole life I’d wanted my mother to show me that emotional comfort and safety I was looking for and instead she gave me information and knowledge…because for her that WAS comfort and safety.

It was the comfort and safety of being able to understand the world around me. It was the comfort and safety to make informed decisions. It was the comfort and safety of surviving in this world - A world that she had known to be unkind to people like us. It was the comfort and safety of knowing I could take care of myself. It was the comfort and safety of knowing that when the day came for her to close her eyes, I would be ok.

She used to say that last one to me all the time.

And in the small moment, I finally understood it.

I finally understood where she was coming from.

I finally understood the love she had always been giving me but that I wasn’t always able see.