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The Very Odd Day

The Very Odd Day

“I’m battling mom-guilt,” my daughter-in-law shared while cradling my two-month-old grandson.

“Don’t!” I commanded. “You’ve got a lot of mom years ahead and lingering guilt only makes the job harder than it already is. Just thank God that you’ve recognized the problem and move on.”

Then I reminded her of my recent debacle. Due to the effects of my neuromuscular disease, I knew my legs would become weak after having a nuclear stress, so my dad drove me across town. As expected, after four long hours, attendants pushed me to the door in a wheelchair.

Tired, hungry, and in desperate need of coffee, I forgot about my purse. Thirty minutes later, my cell phone rang.

“Is this Susan Davis?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“This is Ann from nuclear medicine. I think your purse is still in a locker down here. I can’t find the key. Do you have it?”

“Ooooh no!” I let out.

Overwhelmed in my fatigued state, I saw my dad motion with his hand. Busy on a conference call, he shrugged off the nuisance and turned the car around.

“We’re on our way back,” I explained before hanging up.

An hour and a half later, I entered my parent’s home—with purse in hand—in time to rest before the evening choir rehearsal.

Hired to accompany my parent’s church choir during the Christmas season, I was thankful my legs recovered before we began. When finished, another member, Patsy, drove me forty minutes back to my home since she lives close by.

But when we pulled into the driveway and I reached for my purse, it was nowhere to be found. Undone, I realized I left it in the choir room. I frantically tried to find a way into my home.

Unable to locate our spare key, I started to call an Uber. But Patsy insisted on driving me back instead. Over an hour later, we pulled into my driveway a second time, where I thanked her profusely before burying myself in bed.

As I sat with the mother of my grandchild and shared this story, I reminded her that in the past, the very odd day would’ve ended with a load of negative self-talk and internal flagellation that would’ve induced a week’s worth of unwarranted agony.

But in recent months, I’d challenged myself not to float on the poop-filled-lazy-river in my mind. Tired of it, I finally realized it just wasn’t necessary.

So I fought against the voice of shame and churning internal stress while Dad and Patsy drove. I chose my words carefully, even though I’d inconvenienced others twice in one day during the busy holiday season. And I allowed their gracious offer to help to override the utter embarrassment that humbled me.

My only regret? That I didn’t learn how to forgive myself many years ago—especially as a young, widowed mom who lived through many very odd days.

So dear ones, learn from mom mistakes and move on. Your soul is worth it.

By: Susan Schreer Davis lives with her husband, their cat named, Eggs, and the challenging effects of mitochondrial disease. She leans on humor, her dysfunctional family, and faith the size of a mustard seed to maintain hope. Learn more about Susan, her latest book and many songs at

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