Worry Wart

On weekend nights, when my mom was out on a date, I would sit in the stairwell and cry. I would do it quietly so that my grandma couldn't hear me, and so she wouldn't ask questions. I worried that she would hear me and ask what was wrong and I wouldn't have a good answer. I was born with worry lines already etched into my forehead. I was an incessant worrier and my earliest memories were plagued by worst case scenario thoughts. In addition to my red hair, I also inherited my pension for worrying from my grandmother.

I never knew what set off the bad thoughts. Most likely all the TV I watched made my brain think life had to be drenched in drama for it to be interesting and live able. On this particular night, I was tormented by the Highway to Heaven episode. Michael Landon had come to earth to be there for a little girl whose mom had died in a tragic car accident. Ten minutes before my grandma sent me to bed, my eyes were glued to the televised image of a bloody hand hanging outside of the smashed upside down station wagon. In my adolescent mind Pandora's Box of possibility opened and I couldn't ignore the fact that my mom was out there in the scary world, and even worse, driving. It was then I decided her fate was undoubtedly going to be the same as this drama series actress' fate...enter incessant worrying.

So there I sat in the stairway with dreary images circling my influential mind, my eyes glazing over as I fought off sleep, waiting for the inevitable late night phone call. At least that is how it always happened in the movies. The phone would ring, my mom would be in a coma and my grandma would rush my brother and I in our pajamas to the hospital to muster our last goodbyes. Just when I was about to score the music for my mental drama the key turned in the door and my mom was home! I quickly and quietly scurried up the stairs into my bedroom and drifted off to the kind of deep sleep that only 3 hours of crying could bring.

Out of everyone I worried about, my mom was the starring and recurring role. When I was away from her I would worry it was the last time I would see her. Right after she dropped me off at school I would watch her drive away as I tried to fight away the surge of fear that gripped me. Every day was another attempt to make it through 7 straight hours consumed by thoughts of how I was going to handle being an orphan.

In junior high and high school I passed on a lot of the antics that my friends were wrapped up in. I didn't want to smoke because I was scared it was going to fill my lungs with Cancer on the first inhale leaving my mom with the pain of caring for a dying child. I didn't want to sneak out of the house because if my mom found out she would be plagued with worry and driven to searching for me in the night, which would undoubtedly lead to her getting in a fiery car crash (seriously, that Highway to Heaven episode really stuck with me)!

I was always worried about losing the things I cherished most and my mom was on the highest tier. I couldn't imagine my life without a mom who would break out into "I Feel Pretty" mid-laundry folding with underwear on her head. Life without a mom who threw the coolest Gingerbread House making birthday parties for me. Life without a mom who would make microwaved fluffy butter eggs for me when I was sick. I couldn't imagine it, but I did, every second of every day.

As an adult, I still worry. I have learned how to manage my worrying so it isn't all consuming and I have done my best to try and flex my optimism so that my positivity muscles become stronger than my doom and gloom tendencies. But each day is a battle...I shall not lie.

When I was younger, I would tell my mom that when I grew up I was going to live with her forever. This sentiment was probably less about my wanting to live with her and more about making sure I was ever present so I could attempt to keep anything bad from ever happening to her. While it was a sweet gesture it was only that, I moved out of the house when I was 17.

When people find out that I moved out at such a young age they assume it was because I couldn't wait to get away from my mom. It was, in fact, the exact opposite. My mom is the epidemy of strength and Independence and in that sense I wanted to be just like her. I wanted to be just as strong as she was and the desire to take care of myself and be independent was more important than my irrational fear of being away from her.

I have come to realize that my unrelenting fear and worry over my mom was simply because I couldn't imagine life without her. As an adult, I still can't. About six years ago my mom moved 5 1/2 hours away. Coming from a family that is relatively small and one that always resided 10 minutes away from each other, this was a huge and scary adjustment. It is tough not having her around. Not only is she one of my favorite people, but she is also so much fun to be with. I miss being able to see her all the time and being able to do mom and daughter outings with her. Sometimes I will see mom's and their daughters together shopping or having coffee on a Sunday afternoon and it makes me ache for my mom. I wish she was close enough for me to drive to her house or to make last minute plans with.

Like any mom and daughter, we've had our share of ups and downs but my love and admiration for her is constant. Sure, I poke fun at her...the way she dances, the way she cackles when she laughs, but that is only inspired by sheer awe because with each passing day I become more and more like my mom and that...is a beautiful thing.