Wistful morning

It's a cool, fresh morning, and I'm sitting on the screened in porch of my daughter's house. The sunshine is filtered through the leaves of a huge oak tree. I've watched the womanchild and one of her roommates rush off to their first day of classes for fall semester while I've sat back, just enjoying the internet. It feels both deliciously and guiltily lazy.

That guilt reflex just kills me. My hysterectomy was only five days ago, but I still feel like I should be up and doing something productive. I'm letting my head lead my emotions though, and I'm taking it easy. Just because I've worked through some not inconsiderable pain for months now doesn't mean I always have to do that. Letting myself heal is smart.

I've crossed a bridge this last week. A hysterectomy is a big life change, but that's not the one I mean. My daughter is taking care of me. She drove me to the hospital and was the one pushing for answers while I was in recovery. She drove me to her house when I was discharged, carried my bags in, tucked me in bed and then went to get my prescriptions filled. She's cooking my meals and making sure I have everything I need. She's really being a complete angel, albeit one with a smart, funny and sassy mouth who will laugh at me holding my swollen belly while I laugh at something she said.

She's doing the things for me that I did for her for years, what I did for my father just a few years ago. In a matter of days, I've gone from being a middle aged woman (feeling my age, but definitely not old) to being the older generation in need of care. I know that physically, I'll get back to the other side of the bridge. It won't be long before I'm driving, cooking, cleaning and taking care of myself again, but the time may come again when I will need help. Will it be up to my daughter to take care of me again? That thought is a little sad and scary. I want to be the one helping her.

I'm not ready to hand over this baton and say my time of action and independence has come to an end, and I can't help but feel I've had my first taste of what will inevitably come.