Growing up, I often heard my parents express the phrase, “It’s always something.” At the time, I nodded along, pretending to grasp its meaning, while my life revolved around college, endless emails to friends in distant places, and the pressures of impending adulthood. My parents were grappling with the challenges of a struggling business and the care of my aging grandparents, but I was too consumed with my own “somethings” to truly notice.
One day, as I was immersed in my studies, my mom appeared in the doorway, visibly fatigued. In her early forties, she shared that my grandmother had been hospitalized, prompting my parents to delay their business trip. I offered a perfunctory response, feigning understanding of her dilemma, convinced that my own worries—term papers, parking spaces, and a string of failed relationships—were all that mattered.
In 2002, I stood as a bridesmaid in six weddings, each time feeling more disheartened about my own future. I worried that I would never find the right partner and would end up alone, surrounded by a multitude of cats—just another “something” to add to my list. Meanwhile, my mother was diligently juggling her own burdens, managing a business and coordinating care for her parents.
Fast forward a few years, and I found myself married with children, while my mom remained a steadfast support through it all. I vividly recall her rushing into the delivery room when my first child was born, relief washing over her face when they arrived just in time, despite the worrying check engine light on their truck. “It’s always something,” she remarked, but her love remained unwavering.
Now, the tables have turned. I find myself grappling with the enormity of caring for three children under the age of six, all while my mother’s health declines. How does one person manage this? I often ask myself, talking to the empty walls of my home.
One afternoon, as my oldest returned from school, my mother called to share news from her cardiologist. Surrounded by chaos, I struggled to focus. I shooed my kids out of the kitchen, cradling the phone as I turned on the TV to distract them. The tears welled up as I heard her weary voice, while my little ones rummaged through the pantry. I reached for a bag of Goldfish crackers to quiet them down, but my youngest started crying.
In that moment, I muttered, “It’s always something,” and ended the call, promising to reconnect tomorrow. Now, I finally get it. The complexities of life keep piling up, yet the love remains constant.
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In summary, life is a series of “somethings,” and while we may feel overwhelmed at times, it’s the love and support of family that carries us through.
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