I’ll Take You Guys.
“I don’t want to go to this appointment alone.” I say out loud about my son's one month doctor’s appointment. As soon as the words escape my mouth, I’m not really sure who they are for, maybe just to speak my fears out loud. This will be the first doctor's appointment my mom or a friend can’t make. I know attending doctor’s appointments alone will be a normal occurrence as a single mom, but right now this appointment feels like too much too soon. Before I have a chance to take the words back or elaborate, Brent says, “I’ll take you guys. What time?” I don’t respond as I take a minute to make sure I didn’t make up what I thought I heard. He says it again in case I missed it. I don’t want to give him a chance to change his mind so I try to hide my excitement as I quickly say the time. I’m not sure if I want him to take us because I enjoy his company or simply because I don’t want to go alone. Whatever the reason is, I decide I’ll figure it out tomorrow after the appointment.
I’ll Be There.
“Why are your hands so clammy? You seem really nervous,” I say as we walk the halls holding hands. “I really don’t like hospitals,” Brent utters quietly. I had no idea. When we learned Brady needed surgery at eight months old and that it would involve a three day hospital stay, there was no talk of whether or not Brent liked hospitals. He just said, “Ok, I’ll be there. I’ll come home from school that weekend,” and he did. He showed up at seven pm after every visitor had left and it was just Brady and me in the sterile hospital room for the night. He knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I was there alone, so even though he hated hospitals, he stayed the entire night. He stayed awake, so I could attempt to sleep. In the morning, when other visitors started to arrive, he’d sneak out and return again after they left for the evening. He repeated this pattern Brady’s entire hospital stay. We had only been together seven months at this point. Brent was under no obligation to be at the hospital. I would have understood, but it was never even a discussion.
I’m Going to Help You.
I hear the pitter patter of feet coming down the steps before her face is illuminated by the hallway light as she enters our bedroom. It’s almost two o'clock in the morning, so it takes me a moment to adjust to being woken up. “Mommy,” she breathes out quietly, “I puked.” I hit my husband with my arm, who is snoring next to me in bed. Brent pops up quickly, and is startled by the presence of our daughter at the side of the bed. “She puked,” I explain. I don’t need to say anything else. He grabs a shirt from the foot of the bed and makes his way toward her. “Hey sweetheart, I’m going to help you get cleaned up while mommy cleans up your room, ok?” He smiles assuringly at her. I see her body relax almost immediately. He guides her to the bathroom for a shower and change of clothes as I make my way up the stairs to clean up the mess in her bedroom. Not even twenty minutes later Zoey is washed, in fresh pajamas and being tucked in by her daddy on a pillow bed in the living room with a bucket in case this is just the beginning. I grab a blanket and position myself on the couch next to her while Brent heads back downstairs to sleep another hour before getting up for work.
I’ll Go.
I look at the clock and sigh loudly. “What’s wrong?” Brent asks from his spot next to me on the couch. We are both tucked nicely into blankets, enjoying our evening popcorn after the kids go to bed. It is eight thirty pm, and I just remembered I don’t have enough gas in my car to get the kids to school tomorrow. I unravel my legs tucked warmly under his, and begin to remove the blanket. “I have to go get gas. I won’t have time in the morning before I have to get the kids to school, and we won’t make it even half way there. My gas light is on,” I announce. “How convenient,” he chuckles. “Where are your keys? I’ll go,” he states matter-of-factly, standing up and handing me his bowl of popcorn. I inform him they are in my purse, and he heads out into the cold November night in his gym shorts. Fifteen minutes later, I hand him his bowl of popcorn and lift up the blanket on the couch so he can snuggle back into his spot next to me. My tank is full.
You Are Always Enough.
I’m sitting in the running car in the driveway after school drop off to finish writing on the Google doc I have open on my phone. It has been a really hard week and I need to get these thoughts from the drive out of my head and onto “paper” before I walk inside. Once I get in the house, I decide to share them on my Substack. Sometimes I work on pieces for weeks, sometimes I write in the driveway and then sit at my desk and put the words out into the world ten minutes later. I walk from my desk to the kitchen to make a hot cup of coffee. I have no plans except to bury my face in the book I’m reading and maybe squeeze in a nap. Honestly, with the week I’ve had anything else just feels like too much. I set my coffee down on the table next to me and grab my book, and my phone dings with an email notification. It’s from Brent, a reply to my Substack email.
5. You are always enough, Me and the big guy will always have your back.
6. Have some chocolate, it helps reduce the seriousness.
I smile with tears in my eyes and decide to have a piece of chocolate.
Brent really does always have my back.
Love this, friend! “I’ll go” is definitely a fave--I’m always relieved when my hubs takes on an errand that I don’t have the bandwidth for
This is so great, Dani! What a beautiful tribute to him and very well-written.