Not this July, Universe.

I seem to have waved a red flag at the universe with my “Not to Get all Deathy on You” posts, cause things got a little scary here for the past few weeks.

First, my amazing mother-in-law was hospitalized for blood clots- she’s super active, does Yoga, walks 4 mile a day, and at first it appeared she’d pulled a muscle in her leg. But actually, they were scary clots that were undiagnosed for several weeks. By the time she was checked in, one had ended up in her lungs. Since pulmonary embolism is the third leading cause of death in the US (Thanks, Google!) you can bet that I’m so grateful to have her here with us. She’s home, and hard to keep down for long, and I’m so glad.

And yesterday, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. I’ve had three kids, I’m a grownup, I pay my taxes and whatnot. But nothing in my life has ever made me feel so adult and so two year old terrified at the same time as sitting in the doctor’s office with my Mom and Dad, talking about her treatment plan. He says as far as these things go, she’s in a good place, that if he had to rate it he’d give it a 2 out of 10, with 10 being the worst. Numbers. I like numbers in these situations. Those are helpful, reassuring numbers, right?

I’m so glad I get to live close to my mom and erase the events of my teens and twenties with the easy joy we share in my 30s. It’s been hard to train my family to not tell my husband stories about when I was a teenager, but I think they’ve finally got it down. If it starts with “Remember when Lindsay…” and a sly look, it gets the kibosh. Especially the one about when I conned my brother into helping me carry a 1940′s Frigidaire up two flights of stairs to my room. Isn’t there like a twenty year statute of limitations on stupid stuff I’ve done?

My mom describes my adolescence as hanging onto a bucking bronco. I was angry and sucky and resentful for so many stupid things- She made me wear pink! Braided my hair too tight! Made me go to church! I was chock-filled with the nameless, faceless rage that seethes beneath the surface of nice suburban teenage girls, coupled with a nice sense of entitlement that my parents would always be there for me.

And they always have. Sitting with my mom at the doctor, I realized that now, she needs me.  I’ve always loved her, even as I rolled my eyes at her insistence on good manners, proper appearances. Even as I chafed at her definition of what it meant to be a lady. But all of that’s fallen away these past few years, as she pats my cheek and tells me, “You’re such a good mommy.”

If I am, it’s cause I had one.

This song always makes me feel better, no matter what. The most fun? Turn it on and dance around your kitchen on your tippy-toes, flapping arms like a crazed ballerina. My boys duck their heads when I do this, but my girl flits along beside me. One day, I’ll braid her hair too tight, and god knows no one has to make her wear pink. But I love her with the same lunar pull that my mom has for me.

Check it out- and go dance.:)

Why Walk When you Can Fly, Mary Chapin Carpenter