That Laughing Thing

Dad said:


I am overwhelmed by the graciousness of life


Wow, was all I could say.


Then he started that laughing thing again.

Especially Laughing

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:


children
Dad
marriage
home
work/creative life
The dog?


Maybe if I loosen my grip a little, give myself some slack, I'll feel better, not so tired, softer, even laughing...


especially laughing.


*read Thin Ice

Shingles and Other Common Rashes

I took Dad to see his cardiologist this morning. Boy, was that a scene. They put us in a very narrow office with wood paneling, shades of Edgar Allan Poe. I could barely breathe in there. To make matters worse, on the wall was a horrifying poster portraying (in graphic detail), Shingles and Other Common Rashes. One photo in particular, showed a man with lesions all over his face, yikes. People tend to get nervous going to the doctor. Okay, I do. So, why would you put up pictures like that? Why not posters of Provence or Tuscany, or Harrisburg. I'm still trying to shake the image which is why I'm posting this sweet shot of the river.


Rashes, river, rashes, river... 


Tick tock; we sat for quite a while in that matchbox of a room. 


Thankfully, Dad began making jokes.
"Maybe the assistant is trying to wake the doctor. Doctor, Mr. Jackson is waiting for you, please get up. Bring them a deck of cards, the doctor says. Let them play Parcheesi! I need my sleep." 


Dad's good that way. 


Don't let things trouble you, he says. 

Laughing and Praying

I'm feeling breathless...

Aubrey's in labor with her first child, a girl. My daughter, Jess, is with her but she hasn't called and I'm anxious for an update. I know better; my phone will remain in the cradle. (no pun intended.) I will wait for good news.

[Side note: Hoo hoo ha! Hoo hoo ha! I know it does absolutely nothing for the pain, Aubrey. It's complete horseshit, really. But keep breathing, honey. Focus on the dent in the wall.]

Meanwhile, across the country in San Diego, my quirky and beloved mother-in-law, is having her uterus removed because of cancer. Johnie is eighty-four years young; a little surgery won't keep her down. That's what I keep telling myself.

Johnie's biggest concern was that they were going to mess up her bladder tuck that she'd had done a few years back...

"I just don't want to be peeing in my pants again, Elizabeth," she said.

"Nope, that's not so great,"I said, "That whole sneeze and pee thing sucks."

"I can't believe I'm laughing about cancer," she went on, "but if you can't laugh, well...you're screwed."

And then she laughed, and I laughed too. Crazy, huh?

Of course, I keep thinking about Johnie's uterus. It carried five babies; Pamela, Mark, Michael, Neal, and Amy. My husband, Michael was a Christmas Eve baby, no less. Did I not say the other day, that I was a sentimental sot? And now there's Aubrey's uterus to think about. No wonder I'm breathless. Just saying the word, uterus, is a work-out.

Monday night in May: new baby on the way in, old uterus on the way out. I feel like I should do something, like weep?

Better yet, how about some laughing and praying. And breathing.

I'll get started. Jump in any time you feel like it.