3/14/24

And so this week’s moment of happiness despite the news.

In moments of crisis, like my family and I have been going through for the last eight – 8!!! – weeks, it begins to feel like your entire life is the crisis. The crisis becomes your sun, and everything else in your life circles around you like vague satellites. You have moments where those satellites come close and it feels almost like a normal life for about five minutes, but then the sun shines again.

Despite the positive feel of warm sunshine, in this case, the sun is not welcome. You want the sun to become the satellite, and then a falling star, falling away to never be seen again.

During this week, I found myself experiencing a soar in frustration, anger, and just “I’ve had enough”-ness. Nothing really went wrong – in fact, a lot went right. Michael is now walking all the way across the rehab’s gym with a walker. He climbed halfway up some stairs. He rolled himself to the gym in a wheelchair and he walked back with a walker. Today, when I came in, I found him with the occupational therapist, taking his first shower in 8 weeks.

Two weeks ago, he wasn’t even standing for very long.

He has returned firmly to the present time. His short term memory still wobbles, but it’s getting firmer every day. He’s eating almost normal foods.

The change is amazing. Heartening. Uplifting.

And the rest of the world suddenly seemed incredibly annoying.

Here’s an example that hasn’t happened yet, but I see it looming. Tomorrow, I have a client on the phone at ten in the morning. And, at ten in the morning, a host from a local radio program is calling me for a fifteen-minute interview about Michael’s accident. And at 10:30, a mobility company is coming to install the stairlift.

See the problem? And that’s been my week. I am a hyperorganized person. But I keep messing up my scheduling. Earlier this week, I was getting into the shower at 2:00 so I could leave at 2:30 to make it for a 3:00 appointment – an appointment actually for me. As I ran past my desk, I glanced at my desk and saw…my appointment was actually at 2:00. I wasn’t there.

That led to a major meltdown.

During one afternoon this week, Michael said to me, “I just want my life back. When can I have my life back?”

Me too.

But then a couple things happened that taught me something.

First, I had a couple companies come out to give me estimates on putting the stairlift in. The man representing the second company and I were talking and he mentioned living near the high school I graduated from. When I told him this, he asked when. It turned out that his mother and I went to school together. I mentioned that my kids all went to the high school. He did too, and he said, “Who were your kids?” I listed, “Christopher, Andy, Katie…” and his eyes went wide. “Mrs. Lokken?” he shouted.

Turns out he was a young kid that hung out at my house when I was that Mrs. Lokken. He lived down the street. He had a tough life. At the time, I had my tough moments too.

But here we were, standing in my stairwell. And we were both fine. We’d gotten past those moments and moved on to other ones.

Moments are moments. They pass. Lesson number One.

Then, a little bit later in the week, I was in the middle of tearing my hair out and wondering if I was ever going to be myself again. Probably the biggest thing that’s affecting me is that I haven’t written a word, other than this blog, since handing in the latest novel. And writer is my primary identity. Because I meet with clients in the morning and I have clients and classes in the evening, I write in the afternoon. But on this particular afternoon, and on every afternoon since the accident happened, I wasn’t writing because I was gathering stuff together to go see Michael. Due to my schedule, visits just have to be in the afternoon. Just as I was getting ready to shut down my computer and pack it up, an email arrived. I opened it and found that a poem of mine was accepted for an annual poetry calendar.

And one of the neat things? The theme of the poetry calendar was “Shine.” My poem, Pre-Dawn Dreaming, was all about shine. And suddenly, I was surrounded by it.

Oh, I thought. There I am.

So there was another moment. Moments of normalcy. Moments when I am who I am.

And like standing with that young man in the stairwell, time goes by and we’ll move on.

I absolutely hate the phrase, “This too shall pass.” Not as much as I hate the phrase, “Everything happens for a reason,” or “God only gives us what we can handle.” I don’t believe either of those. But this will pass. Michael will come home. Life will go back to normal. It might not be my old normal, but there will be a normal.

Someday, I will stand in another stairwell, or on a sidewalk, or in a room, and I will realize this is all over, it’s in the past, and I will have long stretches of time I don’t even think about it. I won’t even be writing about this in the blog anymore.

On one of the times when Michael said, “I just want my life back,” I found myself saying, “I’m just so glad you have a life,” and “It’s all good.”

It’s hard as hell. But it’s all good.

And yes, that helps. Despite. Anyway.