Tow Mater meets Clair de Lune

I sat at the computer desk helping Adam draft his invitation for his Covid-19 Virtual Group Date (the thing any new 16 year old does after weeks of quarantine) while quietly listening to Clair de Lune.  I paused for a moment and looked up.  I was surprised to find Jonathan was the sponsor for our music and was quietly dancing to this musical master piece.

I love this dancing man.  And his love of rhythm... and Tow Mater’.

When I watched this video over again it hit my heart.  This man has incredible faith.  Indeed a genuine Tow Mater'.  He may look a bit on the dilapidated side these days, but he is constant.  He truly doesn't need to know what lies ahead - he knows who sees the upcoming path and trusts with surety he will be guided through it. 

Islands In The Stream

This post has absolutely nothing to do with anything other than me flashing a wink towards my man in the wheelchair.  Kenny Rogers died today.  He was the legend that sang our song.  Every time I hear Kenny and Dolly jamming this tune, the corners of my mouth can’t help but break into a smile and I remember watching you dance to this song.  Here’s to my forever island.  Love ya Smooch.

Pulmonologist in Portland

We met with Dr Schaumburg on Thursday.  What an absolutely terrific man.  If you are going to do something in life, do it like this man and do it well.  He spent over an hour with us just soaking up understanding and disseminating knowledge.  What a good and remarkable man.  Kiddos, let it be heard from the mouth of your mama, whatever you do, do it well. Essentially, we came home with the reality that trach time is here.  Anytime now, is the right time.  I'm processing that. That reality brings some highs and lows.

For now, this is a snapshot of us headed to the Pulmonologist in Portland.  It was a brutal drive for Jonathan.  His head support didn’t arrive when it was supposed to from our medical equipment company.  So amidst my efforts to tether his head he bounced around violently all 9 hours and needed a heavy dose of ibuprofen when we got home.  This is us in a really long van with no children to occupy the separating seats.  You can barely see that good man back there.

Mortal Boulders

To someone out there in never never land, I got your back. I don’t know who you are, or where you are or when this will find you. But I’m here for you. To the spouse that pulls in the driveway and is so numb they can’t get out of the car, I’m here. I hear you. I feel it. The suppressive weighted numb- I’ll hold it with you. I’ll lift. I’ll carry it. I’ll shoulder it, just leave it here with me so you can open the door and get out of the car. So you can inhale again and keep going. The hurt is real. The numb coats everything. It is everywhere and in everything. It lingers. It mutes. It abides. I haven’t figured out yet when it goes, I only know it comes. But I want you to know you got this. It’s okay to feel it. It’s okay to hold the hard. It’s okay to just absorb the uncertainty and the fear and the pain and the sorrow and the grief and the loneliness and the unrealized dreams and every other spec of all of this. You hold it close. You feel it long. You drink it deeply. You own every piece of it, because it is all yours to own. It is all yours to feel. It is your mortal journey. It is your path of becoming. It is the boulder that now weighs you down to the very darkest depths. But when this passes, because I promise it will pass, that boulder that now smothers you will become your anchor. Your rock. Your foundation. Your stepping stone. With it, you will rise taller and you will see with greater wisdom than you ever imagined the needs of others and with power you will love them. You will become their shoulder. You will lift where you once could not breathe and will be the breath they long for. Take your boulder and learn from it, feel it, let it become a part of you. Let it be a well worn, ear marked page in your journey. Don’t be ashamed of it. It will become sweetness to humanity and unfettered love of all mankind.