April 21st, 2016 → 5:20 am @ Lea // No Comments

“What I am, and what I would, are as secret as maidenhead.” – Twelfth Night

I’ve had a history of health problems since, well, since before I was born (while in the womb, I broke two ribs).  Last night I had an episode where I fell to the ground and for a good minute, was completely unable to get up.  My son was with me at the time and confusedly asked, “Mommy, why are you acting like you are dead?”  It was enough for me to pull myself together, stop up the tears that were threatening, and comfort him.  My son knows little about my health problems and I’ve generally tried to keep it that way – walking and physically playing with him whenever he asks, even when it is ridiculously painful.  And last night I tried to comfort him without telling him much.  I didn’t want to scare him.  Like any parent, I wanted to shield and protect my son.

But it made me wonder, why do it?  What should we tell our children and what shouldn’t we?  When should we reveal our secrets?  My son knows that both my parents died young and he is currently in a phase where he’s been asking me about their deaths on a nearly daily basis.  “Tell me again the story of how your dad died.”  “What was it called the sickness your mom had?”

My mother died of cancer at fifty.  I have her small, thin body and often I fear I will develop her disease.  While I hope I will not die young, I also hold no illusions that there is any reason I may not.  Sometimes I wonder why I continue this blog.  It was originally meant to promote my book The Other Shakespeare, and that came out a year ago, so why keep going?  The answer:  for my son.  So that if I do die before he becomes an adult, he will have a record somewhere of my random thoughts – so that he can go back to it (should he want), and piece together pieces of me whenever he needs to feel the weight of my presence.  If my mother had had a blog, I know I would still be reading it today, and reaching for it in times of emotional vulnerability, like when my son asks me, “Mommy, why are you acting like you are dead?”