The “Weekender”

The "Weekender”

The other evening, I was lying in bed while looking through old photos on my phone. One in particular stood out. It highlighted my favorite Vera Bradley “Weekender” complete with her notorious swirls and patterns of vibrant hues from golden yellow to deep reds. It was the perfect bag despite its name.

We all knew it wouldn’t be just the weekend.

Upon first glance at the digital image, I wondered to myself why I would have left the bag by our front door of our tiny apartment. We were indeed tight on space, but this didn’t make complete sense. I’m no Marie Kondo, but clutter and things out of their places certainly doesn’t bring me a whole lot of joy, unless it’s a coffee cup full of steaming goodness. Coffee mugs typically stay out of place because repeatedly, I forget where I’ve set them down. And more often than not, I’ll find it in the microwave at approximately 5:30 in the evening.

It only took me a few seconds to be drawn back into time, when the photo was snapped by most assuredly myself, to recall just why I kept the quilted bag there in the first place.

It’s jarring how a photo has that ability, that kind of power over you to instantly transport you to an exact place and time. It can be wonderful and exhilarating… or not. And there I was. Taken back. Likely sitting at the table listening to Hannah giggle profusely about something I had no clue or listening to the two teenage boys have a conversation sprinkled with so many “tech” words that they sound foreign to me. Or perhaps, Grace, who would be only 9 at the time, might be practicing her cheer routine on a cream colored shag rug that cost entirely too much, all because her daddy is putty in her hands. And still to this day, if his girls ask for something sincerely, he’s getting it and will figure out the math later.

Dad math.

I remember the constant rumble in my gut. I remember the “nervous cleaning" I would accomplish. I don’t know how or why this became a part of my life and routine but undoubtedly it did. I remember waiting for the labs to show their values in the app on my phone, the one the hospital told me to download. I remember checking my phone constantly and being jolted when their phone number would flash across my phone’s screen.

Sometimes, I’d answer straight away. Sometimes I would have to catch my breath and let a few rings go unanswered before I would hear…

“It’ll just be for a few days. We have everything under control. Just grab your bag and come on.”

Ok. Sure.

The bag. Yes. I’ve got it nearby, don’t I? Many necessities still remain inside from the last stay, like Hannah’s hang-bag for her feeding tube machine, some extra diapers for Hannah, and Keurig pods for myself. Oh yes, I needed Hannah’s belongings, too. This might be a hospital stay for her brother, but she must travel with me. Grabbing the bag is and is not an easy task. Easy, in a sense as I have become accustomed to this and I know what I need and how to grab effectively and efficiently as to get back to the hospital in a timely fashion. However, not so easy because my other two kids need me at home, while their dad is away working tirelessly to keep everything afloat. It all falls on him… the burden of the finances.

So I try not to grumble. Especially to him. He is already so torn with each packing of “The Weekender.” I couldn’t possibly make the conversation any more dreaded.

Who can I complain to? Is there anyone? No, no… not really. We have what we need. Our children are safe and being given the best care in each situation. Our needs are being met… We are beyond blessed to even be in this town. We didn’t plan to stay, but it’s all worked out here in what is supposed to be a college town. Perhaps the kind of town where the students undeniably, live for the weekends.

The bag was built for fun. It’s even in the name! Everyone knows that weekends are made for everything a week day is not made for. Dr visits and hospital stays surely wasn’t what dear Vera had envisioned. That much I am sure. When I glance at its vibrancy, it’s practically begging me to be loaded down with fun summery dresses, maybe an oversized cream sunhat and pointed heels. At the very least, some makeup and sunscreen.

But alas, with its practical contents packed and loaded carefully, thoughtfully, off we’d go with our “Weekender” most likely on any given Tuesday.

And when we would return, it would be half emptied and positioned back to its rightful station at the front door, completely in the way yet completely practical.

Today, I’m grateful for the bag… for the photo and its memories. But, I’m even more grateful my Weekender is emptied, waiting for a true weekend sans stethoscopes, in my closet, exactly where it should be.