Last night my younger son was climbing the bleachers at his brother’s baseball game. He was entertaining himself and being a silly six-year-old when he fell. The rusty metal bleachers took a chunk of skin off his shin. As soon as I saw it I knew we’d be heading to the ER. I tried to stop the bleeding and I tried to believe that he didn’t need stitches, but a mother knows better – even when she doesn’t want to be right.

Two hours later I was sitting on the exam table holding my son as the doctor injected the anesthesia into his wound. It was horrible. He was screaming and I was holding him tight Рand all I could think of was my own mom.

Edward had seven stitches; his leg was cut and it will heal perfectly with no long term effects or lasting complications. My mom watched me endure much more, for much longer with much less certainty. I was sick to my stomach looking at Edward’s leg; how did my mom possibly endure looking at my bruised and bleeding back as my rods broke through? I know he will be okay and was able to promise him so. How did my mom assure and comfort me when she couldn’t promise anything?

I have no idea what my parents went through when I was in the hospital and afterwards. Comforting my son last night confirmed this – I can not imagine. And I don’t know how she did it.