There is mist coming off the pond in the backyard, there’s not a cloud in the sky out front. The temperature has dropped to a brisk 60-somethin’ today which prickles, and though I know it’s too cold for the locals, it seems pretty close to perfect to me. I hear some rustlings, but take pride in the fact that I’ve gotten up, made my self an omelette and coffee without waking anyone else, and have this pretty-close-to-perfect all to myself.
It’s a beautiful morning in Waynesboro, GA and we’re closing in on the tail end of grueling visit. We’ve done a lot – by which I mean Kristen’s done a lot – and though I’m certainly not going to say I just sat back and watched, she took the brunt of the nursing care with her father – but the difference between how we’ll be leaving this house and her family versus the state in which we found it is … almost impossible to overstate.
Though a good deal of that was the hip surgery itself, a lot of it has been mental state, and that both makes me optimistic and makes me worry: the hip’s a physical thing made of titanum and will no doubt outlast the human body around it, but mental states can be fragile, and depending on what REAL mix of active ingredients went into the cure : anti-depressants, medication, the attention of his family, the cessation of physical pain, the cessation of the stress of upcoming surgery, a better freakin’ diet, less caffeine, more fiber, warming weather, music, activity, bad news to be angry about, a good movie to be joyous about, playing the piano… we’ll be taking some of those ingredients back to Baltimore soon. He’ll be responsible for much of the rest, and we’re only leaving the hip and the weather and the passage of time as the REAL immutables.
But what a difference a couple of days makes, and I know I’ve been impatient.
I’ll probably never really know if I give enough to people, or if I let some of them exhaust me too soon. None of us will ever know the “what-ifs” of how things could’ve turned out if we’d just stuck by someone’s side another day vs whether they’d been a lost cause from the start, but as Kristen and I played for her dad and stepmother last night, and in return having her father play the piano back at us, I think it’s safe to assume that THESE decisions went pretty well. I would like to think that my spikes of frustration and my momentary lapses of patience assisted more than it hurt, but … we’ll never know.
It was SO GOOD to sing last night. I think of playing my guitar as the thing I miss, especially in environments such as these where you’ve got to be quiet while it’s quiet and then … well the other half the time the house is so noisy you can’t hear yourself think, much less sing… but singing, filling my lungs and roaring out again, that’s what filled me with absolute joy last night. Playing with Kristen and feeling the harmonies in the back of my throat and listening and feeling as my throat and my lungs work (they still work!!!) was glorious.
It’s like the other day when I went out into the soft grass of the backyard and did cartwheels just to see if the muscles remembered how. Feeling things slip into place is it’s own reward. Soft grass, overgrown little blue flowers that collect and floss between the toes. Returning to the house dragging my feet because the grass was cool and the sun was hot, returning to the back porch with little bouquets nestled in every toe crotch.
Yes, I can do cartwheels.
Special shoutout to Anna who’s package of soaps, chocolate and a “fuck this shit” dish cloth showed up on a fantastic day. T’was the first thing returned from the mailbox on the first day Bill was able to make it out and back without debilitating pain. A well-earned reward!
