On a Friday in February I rode the train home after an ordinary work week, looking forward to my date and staring absentmindedly out the window at the passing cars on the Pike. Thinking ahead to my hurried prep time, I called my brother at home to make sure he wasn’t lollygagging about in the shower. “Hey Paka. Yeah, you can shower when you get home, that’s cool. Have you talked to Mom or Dad at all today? No? Aight well I’ll just tell you when you get home.”
Oh heeeeell no.
I made him tell me right then: Mom had apparently fainted at work and had been admitted to the hospital for tests and such. Immediately calling my dad to see if I should cancel my plans and come to the hospital, he calmed me, saying “No, we really think she’s fine. Go on your date, I’ll be home soon to pick some stuff up for her, and you can come tomorrow and that will be fine.” I hurried home, flustered, and touched base with my brother on all the information we collectively knew about the day’s events. Hopping into the shower, my mind flitted between thoughts of my mom and of the aforementioned date, alternately piecing together my outfit and worrying about her as my hands automatically scrubbed my hair.
Freshly moisturized and made up, I dressed, hearing my dad puttering about in the kitchen below; he must have arrived while I was in the shower. As I finished drying my hair, he reentered the house after checking the mail, and I heard him call out from the foot of the stairs. “Are you waiting for something… from… from uh, Smith? College?”
My stomach dropped.
I went flying down the stairs, snatched the envelope from his hands, and went to the cutting board by the sink as I started to try to tear it open. “You don’t have to open it right now, honey bun.”
“YES I DO!!” my fingers fumbled with the flap of the envelope, already trembling.
My unseeing eyes scanned the first paragraph five times over before starting to register the actual words. “We are pleased to extend early admission status to you… Smith School of Social Work… Masters Program… Congratulations…!” My vision blurred again as my eyes brimmed with tears. Because I’m me, I started to holler. “Oh my god! I think I got in! I totally didn’t think they were going to let me in… but I think they did! I got in!! I GOT INTO GRAD SCHOOL!!”
Leaping up and down, screaming bloody murder, I hugged my dad and hollered in his ear. “Can we call mom!? Oh my god!! I got in!!!”
“No, honey, she’s having tests run. You can tell her tomorrow.”
Oh yeah. Remember that part when my mom was in the hospital? My excitement evaporated as I started to comprehend that I was not going to be able to immediately share my news with my mom. My mom, who had diligently read through draft after draft of my autobiographical sketch, poring over them for every detail that could be tweaked to make them better. My mom, who had encouraged me to apply, talking with me about my timeline and cheering me on through the process. My mom, who through her demeanor and work and devotion to family had inspired me to look into this profession in the first place. I cried different tears. “Daddy this sucks!! I want to call her!!”
Catching a glimpse of the time and realizing I was not ready, I scooted upstairs to complete the process, yelling intermittently “AHHHH!” and “I GOT IN!! AHHH!” I sent a quick mass email to all my people, updated my facebook status (obvi), redid my make up, and pulled on my hot leather boots.
“Look at my beautiful social worker daughter, going on a date. I am so proud of you, Meredith.” Bubba grinned in the foyer as I reminded (begged?) him to behave himself upon meeting The Boy (who, by the way, handled all this commotion with impressive poise; imagine that arrival: “Hi!!! I got into grad school!!! And my mom’s in the hospital!!! And here, meet my dad for the first time!!!” Well done, sir.). My face flushed and my mind awash with crazed emotions, a grin plastered on my face, we headed out into the cold.
I was able to meet my mom at the hospital the next day and promptly crawled into bed with her to show her my letter and acceptance package. I told almost every person I saw that day of my news (even the doctor), and was relieved to have Mama Flout’ come home that afternoon.
I then had to keep my damn mouth shut about it until now, when the news is officially out:
I got into grad school, bitches! Yyyyeah!
Oh heeeeell no.
I made him tell me right then: Mom had apparently fainted at work and had been admitted to the hospital for tests and such. Immediately calling my dad to see if I should cancel my plans and come to the hospital, he calmed me, saying “No, we really think she’s fine. Go on your date, I’ll be home soon to pick some stuff up for her, and you can come tomorrow and that will be fine.” I hurried home, flustered, and touched base with my brother on all the information we collectively knew about the day’s events. Hopping into the shower, my mind flitted between thoughts of my mom and of the aforementioned date, alternately piecing together my outfit and worrying about her as my hands automatically scrubbed my hair.
Freshly moisturized and made up, I dressed, hearing my dad puttering about in the kitchen below; he must have arrived while I was in the shower. As I finished drying my hair, he reentered the house after checking the mail, and I heard him call out from the foot of the stairs. “Are you waiting for something… from… from uh, Smith? College?”
My stomach dropped.
I went flying down the stairs, snatched the envelope from his hands, and went to the cutting board by the sink as I started to try to tear it open. “You don’t have to open it right now, honey bun.”
“YES I DO!!” my fingers fumbled with the flap of the envelope, already trembling.
My unseeing eyes scanned the first paragraph five times over before starting to register the actual words. “We are pleased to extend early admission status to you… Smith School of Social Work… Masters Program… Congratulations…!” My vision blurred again as my eyes brimmed with tears. Because I’m me, I started to holler. “Oh my god! I think I got in! I totally didn’t think they were going to let me in… but I think they did! I got in!! I GOT INTO GRAD SCHOOL!!”
Leaping up and down, screaming bloody murder, I hugged my dad and hollered in his ear. “Can we call mom!? Oh my god!! I got in!!!”
“No, honey, she’s having tests run. You can tell her tomorrow.”
Oh yeah. Remember that part when my mom was in the hospital? My excitement evaporated as I started to comprehend that I was not going to be able to immediately share my news with my mom. My mom, who had diligently read through draft after draft of my autobiographical sketch, poring over them for every detail that could be tweaked to make them better. My mom, who had encouraged me to apply, talking with me about my timeline and cheering me on through the process. My mom, who through her demeanor and work and devotion to family had inspired me to look into this profession in the first place. I cried different tears. “Daddy this sucks!! I want to call her!!”
Catching a glimpse of the time and realizing I was not ready, I scooted upstairs to complete the process, yelling intermittently “AHHHH!” and “I GOT IN!! AHHH!” I sent a quick mass email to all my people, updated my facebook status (obvi), redid my make up, and pulled on my hot leather boots.
“Look at my beautiful social worker daughter, going on a date. I am so proud of you, Meredith.” Bubba grinned in the foyer as I reminded (begged?) him to behave himself upon meeting The Boy (who, by the way, handled all this commotion with impressive poise; imagine that arrival: “Hi!!! I got into grad school!!! And my mom’s in the hospital!!! And here, meet my dad for the first time!!!” Well done, sir.). My face flushed and my mind awash with crazed emotions, a grin plastered on my face, we headed out into the cold.
I was able to meet my mom at the hospital the next day and promptly crawled into bed with her to show her my letter and acceptance package. I told almost every person I saw that day of my news (even the doctor), and was relieved to have Mama Flout’ come home that afternoon.
I then had to keep my damn mouth shut about it until now, when the news is officially out:
I got into grad school, bitches! Yyyyeah!
2 thoughts:
Hooray for Hippo! How Happy a Hippo we Have Here. Hip Hip Hooray for a Hippo Day.
Congrats Meredith! and hi! and hope your mom is better!
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