When I was a mere 5 years old, I knew that whatever happened, my Mom could fix it. If something broke – she could glue it. Something tore – Mom could sew it. When a knee was scraped – she would apply Merthiolate and blow away the burning before she kissed it and made it all better. When a heart was broken – she could hold me in a big hug on the sofa and let me watch soap operas with her, and after watching all of the woes on those shows, I forgot all about my sorrow. Later on, of course, I realized that Mom couldn’t really fix everything, but I thought for sure my same abilities that my children experienced as little ones, would last forever.
That was until they were about 6 and I came to realize that I was powerless over many things. Oh, sure, I could glue things and Neosporin knees and help fill in some homework. But for the things that really mattered, my powers were useless.
This realization has somewhat paralyzed me. For I am a fixer. I was a junior high Ann Landers. I was a high school Dr Phil. And now I have lost my powers – my magical power to fix is gone. And I hate the feeling.