I Care

Hurricane Irene headed our way on Saturday. Lucky, it was mostly a non-event in our area. There was some fuss around 2am but I slept through it and woke up Sunday to a fairly normal looking day. Business as usual, the gym and errands. At some point my mother left me a voicemail asking how I was. I called her back, “yes mom, I’m still alive, stop your worrying, I’ll be over later.” Sigh.

We were shopping later that day when she said something that has stuck with me. “You don’t show us you care,” she said. Thinking this was about not calling to check in on them after the hurricane, I protested that there was no evident cause for concern. “No,” she said, “this is about your attitude in general. You just don’t do the things that people do when they care.”

Again, my initial impulse was to argue. I visited every week. I made sure they knew I was alive every couple of days. They worry too much. They’d rather I be on a leash. They smother me. I wanted to tell her all this, as I usually do when I feel like she’s nagging, but something stopped me. Maybe it was the earthquake the week before or the near miss of a destructive hurricane, but I actually stopped the words from tumbling forward and thought about it.

I was no longer a teenager living in my parents’ house and fighting about curfew. I didn’t have anything to rebel against. I was a grown woman, with my own rules and a fairly full life. They know I love them. I tell them so. I give them hugs and say that they are the best parents in the world. But when I visit them or answer the phone, it is with the mindset that it is my duty to do so. Yes, I enjoy our interactions when we have them, but there is always this itch to get away. To get back to all the important stuff I had to do.

Important stuff. What is more important than the people who love us? What is it to show you care? I look at their actions. My mom will come over to walk my dog on her lunch break. My father, who is semi-retired, will often pick up packages for me while I’m out of town and put them in my apartment for when I get back. They ask about my life and are truly interested in the answers. They listen when I’ve had a hard day and just need to whine. They worry about me. They call to check up on me. They will do anything they’re able to see me happy.

I could look at this, feel the guilt of the ungrateful. Or I could pick up the phone and see how their day was.