So I'm not Superwoman after all

but I'm still your go to girl in a crisis.

I've always been good in a crisis. I'm not sure if I was born that way, or if it's a character trait I developed out of perceived necessity when my dad died. I had to stay strong then, for my mother. There were decisions to make, and plans to be made, and things to be taken care of, and my brothers, despite the fact that they are older and allegedly the stronger sex, were absolutely useless. Not because they didn't want to be helpful, but because they gave in to their emotions, and to their grief. As I should have done, but didn't, because someone had to strong for my mother and someone had to make the decisions. So I took control of things, and I don't think I've ever really let go. So I didn't allow myself the normal emotions I should have felt, because there just wasn't time.

Seventeen and a half years later, there are still levels of grief I haven't gone through because I simply haven't let myself.

My way of coping with tragedy, or things that should upset or frighten me, has only sharpened and gotten better since then. I don't know if it's part of what makes me a good lawyer, or if being a lawyer has made it even more pronounced. In any case, I tend to look at events in my life the same way I look at my cases. I don't react on an emotional level initially. I analyze the facts and the situation. I assess the needs. I make a plan of what needs to be done, and in what order. And then I do it. And it's hard for me to let anyone help me, because I'm a control freak. Big shocker, I know.

So this week, Aaron ended up in the hospital with a severe allergic asthma attack. I was more a bystander to the beginning of the drama, as I was in court, and Mike was at the doctor with him. But as soon as he headed to the hospital, I left my case with an attorney friend and headed there. Where I proceeded to take over. And as a consequence of my taking over, I think I managed to push Mike out, at times more than a little. I didn't get upset during the entire hospital ordeal, except for when they were putting the iv line in, because Aaron was so scared. Other than that, I was fine. I asked questions. I gathered information. I analyzed. I assessed needs. I met them. But I didn't really feel a whole lot.

And then they released Aaron on Wednesday. And we went home to a house that Mike had tried to clear of the grout dust that had triggered Aaron's attack in the first place. But it wasn't as clean as what I thought it should have been, or as clean as I would have made it. And I twisted off on Mike. And then I put Aaron back in my bedroom, with the door closed, and I proceeded to clean like a mad woman. Because it needed to be done, and I needed to be the one to do it.

And then Thursday came, and Aaron went back to school. And I thought I was okay with it, because I had emailed the nurse with all the details the day before, and then I went to meet with her that morning to talk to her in person, and to give her medicine for his breathing treatment that afternoon. And I had been emailing Aaron's teacher for days, and she had been up to the hospital Monday night to see him, so she had lots of information about what was going on. And then I sat at home and was so distracted that I couldn't seem to remember my own name. And so I headed off to town a bit early, to pick up some craft supplies for the boys for today, and to have lunch with some friends, and then to go to court. Except that I left my briefcase at home. My briefcase, that I have been carrying to court every day I go to court for 10 years. So I had to go back home. And then I went to Michaels, and couldn't remember why I was there. I finally figured it out, got what I needed, and headed to lunch, where I met the nice friend who had covered court for me on Monday. And I started to give her an update, in the calm, and analytical way that I tend to relay things of an incredibly difficult and emotional nature.

Except that I didn't.

I started to cry. Because my baby, the child that I love more than my own life, had been in the hospital. And he was sick. And I was so, so scared. And as much as I wanted to, I couldn't fix everything. And I couldn't keep my eye on him 24 hours of every day. And I hated it.

And here I am on Friday. The kids are out of school today, which gives me some reassurance because I'm a little more in control of things when I actually have my eyes on them. At least I feel like I am anyway, which is the big thing I guess. I'm trying to let go of a little control, but it's hard. Mike has been nice enough to get up at night and give Aaron his breathing treatments in the wee hours and early mornings, so that I can sleep in. And I appreciate it, because I am still so, so tired. But even that is hard for me. He thinks that I think he can't do it. And that isn't it at all. He is a fabulous father. I know he knows what he is doing, as well as or better than I do. But it's still that letting go of control. Which is hard for me in any case, but especially so now.

And as for the emotional part? I'm still a mess. I still want to cry every time I think about things. I still am making little to no sense of any situation. I sent an email to a friend yesterday that I'm not sure made any sense at all. Or was at all appropriate under the circumstances. And could have even been directed in some ways at myself rather than her. I'm a mess. A mess struggling with my lack of control over this situation, and trying madly to maintain what little control I do have, and trying furiously to regain as much as I can of what I feel I've lost. Because that's what I do.