The first couple of days home the major task on our agenda was taking our medicine and trying to keep ahead of the pain. That’s decreasing and our number one activity now is changing our bandages twice a day. Since Paul’s entire forearm is a mess and Eden and I have two wounds a piece, it’s quite the production. Eden is a child and I’m squeamish, so it’s entirely Paul’s show.
Ever since I looked in the mirror at the hospital and instantly burst into tears, I’ve averted my gaze. I don’t like any gore, and certainly not a mess of it on my face. Eden’s being a little toughie and other than being a little bored, she’s cheerful and in good spirits.
I’m sad our vacation was co-opted. It’s no fun being tired and in pain and missing out on all the fun things we were going to do. I’m still incredibly thankful to be alive: it’s not either/or; it’s a both/and.
I’m thankful for several refunds on hotels, tickets and programs. One, the largest—hundreds and hundreds of dollars—we didn’t even have to ask about, they just quietly credited our account.
I’m thankful for arnica. My eyes seem to be settling into a sallow yellow. They still may turn into black and blue, perhaps green, but today they’re a light mustard and I’m grateful for that.
And I’m so thankful for family and friends. This accident is a small thing. I’m not minimizing it, I just believe we’re going to recover soon, and it’s not going to dominate our lives once the bandages are removed. We may have some scarring, but we won’t be scarred, if that makes sense. And yet, in the short term at least, it’s a very big thing and the kindness of people who care about us has helped so much.
At the Lake
We’ve been at a cottage on Lake Michigan all week. It’s been chill: the weather and our mood, which I hope means relaxed, because it is.
We are happy and well. It’s good to get away from home and be together in a different place and way.
Last night, all of us sitting in the living room eating chocolates and reading, Eden piped up, “THIS is what I call a good time.”
You and me both, sister.
John Denver, I get it now, I really do.
Off and on, all day Paul’s been singing, “Oh sweet Montana, give this child a home,” because we’re here, visiting friends. It’s beautiful. Words fail. We are in a valley cradled by the Rockies. And they aren’t kidding about the Big Sky. Sherry and I drove into town to run an errand, taking a ridicuoulsy scenic route.
I am in love with Montana and a dim and fat little dog who lives here. Sherry and her family are pretty great too.
I’ll report back next week.
Holding the light
This is a picture from Hearst Castle. Figures like this lined the the home theater which was the size of the first floor of my house. Castles aren’t really my style, I’m more of a cottage-y sort of girl, but I liked the thought of holding light.
Light is one of the themes playing out in my life right now. It has been for some time, but it is becoming stronger. A verse in Hebrews took my breath away. I can’t remember the reference and am too lazy to look it up, but it says, “Everything that is illuminated becomes a light.” Love that.
It’s true. I want to continue to learn and grow, to live passionately and joyfully. I want to be lit up. And I want to be a light.