Dad broke his neck falling out of bed.
That sounds so odd, awful really.
But he is bearing up, as we say. He got up to walk to the bathroom today. Here's to baby steps. The doctors say no surgery, but three long months of wearing a neck collar. My throat constricts just thinking about it; my own fear of being held down, closed in, having things strapped on me, is so immense.
Forget elevators, I always take the stairs.
Fortunately, Dad is not me. Yes, he's feeling the weight of this event, yet still making all the nurses laugh. I don't think they've ever met someone quite so joyful and charming in the ICU. Most of their patients are in very bad shape.
Definitely not laughing.
Last night they moved Dad to a transitional trauma unit, and after that; we're not sure. He needs to rehab somewhere besides home; we are looking at our options, trusting that the right door will open.
"If we could untangle the mysteries of life and unravel the energies which run through the world; if we could evaluate correctly the significance of passing events; if we could measure the struggles, dilemmas, and aspirations of mankind, we could find that nothing is born out of time. Everything comes at its appointed time."
- Joseph R. Sizoo
Nonsense, you may be thinking. But I am leaning into this idea of right timing and the way things unfold. Looking back, I see how things have clicked into place and moved me forward. And others too.
Trust the timing of things.
Grace moves in when we release the rope(s) of our life. The holding tight is born of fear. I get it. I've got more than one rope wrapped around my hands:
Maybe if I loosen my grip a little, give myself some slack, I'll feel better, not so tired, softer, even laughing...
*read Thin Ice