Chapter 5
Jeannie
Hold On Loosely, But Don’t Let Go
How had the week flown by so fast? One moment I was looking at the flyer at the community center, the next we were actually there, walking past the fairly crowded rink to rent some skates.
I had Max sit at the closest table to the rental line so I could see him, wanting him to conserve his energy rather than wait in the queue.
Thankfully, we didn’t have to worry about me shelling out an arm and a leg for my own skate rentals because I had my own pair.
Back when Max first got sick and my neighbor, old Mrs. Lannigan, was still around, she gave me boxes and boxes full of knick-knacks to sell as her way of helping me out.
I’d held a little yard sale and donated the things that didn’t sell, but the skates were the perfect fit, and I’d always wanted a pair.
They were beat up as hell, but I was really happy to have them now.
I’d been putting on a good face for Max over the past few days because he’d been talking nearly non-stop about the event, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous.
This was by far the most demanding physical activity that Max had done since he’d been in remission, and my mind was rushing in a million different directions with all the ways he could be hurt.
I tried not to let it show on my face, however, because I wasn’t about to let my own fears rain on my son’s parade. Besides, I was going to be with him every step of the way. It wasn’t like I was just chucking him out onto the ice and expecting him to be like Wayne Gretzky.
Whenever my fears got to be a bit much, I reminded myself of that. I did that the entire time I was in the line, waiting to tell the exhausted employee behind the desk which size I needed for Max.
I had to hand it to her, she really kept it moving on what had to be one of their busiest nights.
Although money was tight, I still pulled out one of the few dollars I had left and slid it into her tip jar.
She gave me a grateful half smile, then handed a pair of skates over and motioned for me to step aside.
Considering the crowd she still had left to serve, that was practically an Oscar acceptance speech.
“I’ve got your skates, buddy,” I said, forcing my fears into a little box at the back of my mind so I was all smiles as I approached Max. “Do you want to sit inside a little and get warmer, or go outside to the benches by the rink and have me put your shoes on for you?”
“Can you show me how to put them on myself?”
Damn it, I knew that was a possibility.
I absolutely adored that my son was so eager to branch out and try things, but I was still getting used to loosening up on the reins a little.
I didn’t like to think of myself as a helicopter mom, but it was a big transition from setting an alarm every two hours to load different medicines into my son’s arm pump to being a mostly regular mom.
I respected that my son had a whole world to explore and lots of experiences to catch up on, but sometimes all I wanted to do was cocoon him in bubble wrap so he would be safe and protected forever.
That wasn’t healthy, however, and we’d fought extremely hard for Max to be healthy, so I resisted those panicked thoughts and gave him a nod.
“Sure, I’ll show you how I do mine, then I’ll walk you through the steps to do yours.”
“Bussin’!”
I blinked at him as I went through the encyclopedia in my head to figure out whether I knew that phrase.
I tried really hard to keep up with all of the slang that was popular with my son’s generation.
Being so sick and often in the hospital had led him to be online much more than I normally would have allowed, so he had picked up on a lot of meme-speak I wasn’t privy to.
“Remind me what that means again?” I asked.
Sure, some parents and older folks got their knickers all in a twist whenever the new generation got creative with language and made up their own phrases, but I found that silly.
As an editor, I was well aware that if a language wasn’t always evolving, always shifting, always adding to its lexicon and modifying colloquialisms, then it was dead.
Too many people thought of language as a rigid set of rules etched in stone, when really it was a living thing meant to connect people and allow them to express what was in their hearts and their heads, even if those weren’t necessarily good things to share.
It was a blessing as much as it was a curse, and something I could go on about for hours if given half a chance.
“It means cool, Mom.”
“Ah, thank you.”
The two of us headed outside into the cold night while I mused about the interesting mix of slang my son tended to use.
There were the occasional fantastical phrases and expressions from the books about dragons and wizards, or spaceships in galaxies far, far away.
There was the chronically online stuff. But then there were a handful of phrases from his favorite Filipino nurse, who was only a few inches taller than him, as well as slang from his largely millennial medical team.
It was an interesting mishmash that always kept me on my toes, and yet one more thing I loved about him.
God, I really was a lucky mom. Bills would come and go. Troubles would come and go. But none of it really seemed that bad considering I now had the chance to actually watch my son grow up and become the amazing young man he was always meant to be.
“Okay, so watch carefully,” I said as we sat down. “And feel free to ask questions if you don’t understand anything.”
“Yes, ma’am!” he said, giving me a little salute.
I chuckled, then began to slowly show him how I liked to lace up my skates.
It wasn’t all that much different than lacing up a shoe, but he hadn’t worn lace-up shoes in about two years.
It had been Velcro all the way once I realized he was getting too weak and that his fingers cramped up around the laces.
Sometimes it still amazed me how much his cancer had affected every aspect of his life, but you’d never know by his demeanor. He had every right to be a right crotchety kid, but he wasn’t. He was just… Max. My reader. My adventurer. My baby.
No one had my back when I was growing up, but I would forever have his. As long as I was alive, he’d never have to worry about being alone.
“You did it!” I said once he followed my instructions.
It had definitely taken a bit, but I didn’t mind.
Every minute he was sitting down meant he was resting and saving his energy.
I’d busted my ass several times in my youth, and I was so nervous about what could happen if Max wiped out really hard.
I knew I couldn’t truly protect him from everything, and getting cuts, scrapes, and bruises was what being a kid was all about, but he’d already gone through so much. Surely, it wasn’t wrong of me to want to protect him from any more hurt?
Eh.
I’d love to see a therapist about everything I’d gone through, but honestly, I couldn’t afford it.
I was infinitely grateful that my son’s state insurance had covered several counseling sessions throughout his treatment.
Sometimes it felt like I was a bit of a lost cause anyway.
But Max had a bright future ahead and deserved all the healing and help I could get him.
“Let me test their tightness. Remember, you want it to feel very snug, especially around your ankles, but it shouldn’t hurt.”
“Yeah, I remember you saying that.”
“Good. You’re doing great.”
“You don’t have to butter me up, Mom. I think I’m more excited about this than you are.”
Whoops, caught out. Not that I was entirely surprised.
Max was exceedingly insightful. If I had to guess, it was from spending such a long time in a bed, only interacting with people through speech and video for the most part.
He certainly didn’t get it from me, because unfortunately, I’d spent a good part of my thirty years being particularly gullible.
Sigh.
“I promise I’m excited. Just a little nervous too. It’s okay to be both.”
He reached up and offered his hand as I stood. “I’ll be super careful, Mama. I promise.”
“Thank you, big man. That means a lot to me.”
There was a long pause while I studied his perfect face and got all up into my emotions yet again.
I drove some of my online friends crazy with how much I talked about all the little things or documented them, but what was I supposed to do?
I had watched my son struggle to breathe while his medical team advised me to prepare for the worst. If that didn’t make a parent incredibly grateful, what would?
But naturally, it was a bit awkward for Max, and I didn’t quite realize how much until he cleared his throat in a dramatic way. “You ready to skate?”
I chuckled slightly, feeling a bit sheepish for being so sentimental, but I steeled myself against the wave of fear.
“Yeah, buddy, let’s go skate.”
“Can we hold hands while we do?”
“Of course. I’ll only let go when you’re ready.”
“Thanks, Mama.”
It was strange, really. Growing up, I’d been an outlier in my community for swearing off children and not wanting a family.
But now? Now I wouldn’t give up Max for the entire world.
Would I have preferred it if I had been able to bring him into the world under better circumstances and his father hadn’t ghosted us? Sure.
I supposed that was the difference between me choosing to continue my pregnancy rather than being expected to spend my twenties and thirties popping out a huge brood.
“You ready?” I asked Max as we stood on one of the lips into the rink. There were indeed a lot of children and a fair few parents on the ice, but it wasn’t too crowded. There would be space for Max to learn, especially if he stuck to the side.
“Yup!”
Slowly, carefully, tentatively, I stepped onto the ice and turned to Max, still holding his hand, and began to instruct him on what to do.
We didn’t rush things, much to my relief, and Max was definitely wobbly at first, but I was pleased that he understood it was important to try to fall forward rather than backward.
Also, I was still able to maintain my balance while holding onto him and countering any wavering on his part.
It had been a long time since I was on the ice, but apparently it was a bit like riding a bike.
With blades involved.
Ugh, that kind of thinking was definitely going to mess up the whole not-being-nervous thing.
I promptly shoved that out of my mind and kept focusing on Max, who was having a brilliant time.
We spent the first half hour with me holding his one hand and him holding onto the wall with the other, and then we took a break.
Unfortunately, the food on hand was way too expensive for me to get, but I had packed some of Max’s nutrition bars that helped him gain weight.
When he’d first gotten sick, I knew keeping his weight up was important, but it wasn’t until he lost a third of his mass that his doctor explained to me just how significant maintaining weight was to improve his survival rate.
After our break, he was ready to get on the ice again, his cheeks a rosy red. I was tempted to tell him we needed to rest a bit longer, but I didn’t.
Really, I deserved a gold star for the day.
Especially when we moved away from the wall and Max and I moved in casual circles around the large rink. Slow and easy, but relatively smooth. Just when my nerves receded so much that they were almost gone, Max spoke through the scarf that covered the bottom half of his face.
“Can I try on my own for a little bit? I’ll hold the wall again.”
Oh God.
Funny how I had once faced completely supporting myself at the ripe old age of nearly seventeen, and somehow that had been less scary than the idea of leaving my son alone on the ice.
Because, when it came down to it, where was the line?
I was his protector. His guardian. The person who was supposed to use my adult experience to counterbalance the na?veté of youth.
But I also needed to know when to let him take risks, and when to let him learn things on his own so he could be an independent adult.
I had to find balance between those two truths, otherwise I’d end up hurting him.
No pressure, right?
Well, what was one of the biggest lessons I had learned since becoming a mother? Compromise.
“I’ll tell you what,” I started, steering us toward one of the exits from the rink. “I’ll set your watch alarm for ten minutes, and you can skate all on your own. But after that, you come to me to rest and hydrate, then we’ll do it again if you want to. Sound good?”
He nodded vigorously. “I do still wanna skate with you, Mama. I just… I dunno… gotta do some things on my own.”
“I know, baby, I know. And I trust you.”
He beamed at me, and that was enough to convince me that I’d made the right choice. Hey, sometimes I was kind of good at this parenting thing.
“All right, let me set your watch, then you can go have fun.”
He held out his arm, and I had to excavate through his sleeve, his thicker mitten and his fingerless gloves below, but he was patient the entire time. Again, there was temptation to drag the process out, but I resisted it.
I was rocking two for two. I definitely deserved a treat. Maybe that pint of specialty ice cream I had waiting in the freezer for my period?
Now that was an idea.
“Off you go,” I said, giving him a pat on the pom attached to the top of his beanie. “Have fun.”
“I will!”
And there he went.
I sat down on the bench, caught between wanting to laugh and wanting to cry. That was my baby boy, growing up and just being a regular kid.
Really, that was the best Christmas present I could ever ask for.