Showing Up Sick

This weekend was about taking care of each other.

Not the kind that feels good.
Not the kind you plan.

The kind that just shows up and doesn’t leave you much choice.

It started Friday afternoon.

I could feel it coming on.

That slow shift in your body where something isn’t right. You try to ignore it at first. Push through it. Pretend it’s nothing.

But it wasn’t nothing.

David was doing his best that day.

Pushing through his own version of tired.

And my wife had already started tackling a dog run build for my mom. What we thought would be quick and simple turned into something much bigger.

Seven hours.

Her and David, out there working.

Plans to finish it Saturday.

Friday night, Jacob broke.

Headache.

Tears.

The same way Zoey started last week.

You know that moment as a parent.

When the pattern clicks.

And you realize this isn’t just one kid having a rough night.

Something is moving through the house.

So we shifted.

Cots came out.
Soup was made.
Lights dimmed.

Even Bluey was too much.

Too loud. Too funny. Too much energy.

Puffin Rock it was.

Soft voices. Gentle pacing. Something that wouldn’t make their heads hurt.

That’s the part people don’t always see.

How much it takes out of you.

Sitting there, watching your kid in pain, wishing you could just take it from them. Add it to your own load. Carry it for them so they don’t have to feel it.

Medicine helped.

Water helped.

Eventually, sleep came.

And when they all fell asleep…

I let myself fall apart.

Fever.
Chills.
Nausea.
Head pounding.
Body aching.

I crashed hard.

Saturday didn’t bring relief.

It brought more of the same.

Asher came into our room that morning.

Touched my foot.

“Dad.”

That kind of voice.

Tear-filled. Small. Needing you.

I didn’t think.

I just moved.

Sat up too fast. Room spinning. Body not ready.

But he needed me.

He wasn’t asking us to fix everything.

Just help him clean up the bathroom.

He had gotten sick.

That was it.

That’s what he needed.

So we cleaned.

Quietly.

Slowly.

The day settled into a rhythm.

Rest.
Cleaning.
Wiping everything down.
Ordering a humidifier.
Trying to stay ahead of whatever this was.

My wife and David went back out to finish the dog run.

David made it until noon.

That’s when it hit him.

Jacob was already hurting.

Asher wasn’t far behind.

Zoey fell asleep.

And I could feel the fever moving through me again.

Rolling waves.

Hot. Cold. Dizzy. Nauseous.

Still trying to stay upright.

Still trying to be there.

That’s the thing.

You don’t really get to be sick as a parent.

Not fully.

Not when everyone else needs you too.

My wife finished the dog run.

Seven hours the day before. Another stretch on Saturday.

Sunburn to prove it.

We’ll move it into place this week.

One more thing done.

We got the kids to bed early.

Again.

And I crashed again.

Sunday was Easter.

My wife was the only one from our house who made it to church.

She had songs to sing.

And I watched from home.

Quiet house. Sick kids. Soft light through the windows.

It was beautiful.

And it was hard.

Another day of rest.

Soup.
Leftovers.
Medication.
Cleaning what we could.

Trying to get ahead of it.

Trying to take care of each other.

And now it’s Monday.

I’m still not right.

Zoey is still asleep.

David is turning the corner.

Jacob is dragging Asher with him over the other side of it.

That’s what brothers do.

Work is here.

Two full days before I take some time off.

Zoey turns 14 this week.

Plans might change.

That’s okay.

We also found out baseball practice is happening this week.

We’re holding the line at 24 hours.

Fever free. Fully themselves.

If not, we sit it out.

I’ll text the coaches if I need to.

There will be other practices.

There won’t be another chance to take care of them the right way right now.

There’s a version of showing up that no one really talks about.

Not the strong version.
Not the polished version.
Not the one where everything works.

The quiet version.

The one where you’re sick too.

Where your body is asking you to stop, but you don’t.

Because someone smaller than you needs you not to.

It’s not dramatic.

It’s not something you post about in the moment.

It’s just…

Soup.
Cots.
Soft voices.
Cleaning up without making it worse.

Staying steady when everything feels off.

You don’t always get to choose when you’re at your best.

But you do get to choose if you’re there.

This weekend, we were there for each other.

And sometimes…

that’s enough.

This is a grounded moment.
The work continues.
Much love. Stay safe. Wash your damn hands. I’ll see you Wednesday.