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Monday, September 30, 2013

Fuzzy .......but Fortunate

I am very grateful for TWT who provide a forum for me to reflect on the Slices of my life.  The Slices would be there even if I didn't write.  Thanks to TWT, I feel compelled to reflect and to write.

I was looking at the road ahead and reflecting on months of physical therapy at home after months in  rehab. I was thinking about caregiving and reflecting on Peapod (home delivery of food)!  I was thinking about nurses and phlebotomists who go into homes. 

I was trying to describe all she had accomplished (learning to walk, albeit slowly, again, learning to get up and down from a chair, albeit slowly, again, coming home, albeit with difficulty) but keenly aware that life, for all of us, was very different, now.

Today, like most days now, I stop by to check on her caregivers, therapies, and medications.
Today, like most days now, she had a distant look in her eyes, as if her mind had drifted elsewhere.   Today, like most days now, she was quiet, engaging less in conversations.
Today, like most days now, it doesn't matter if the Yankees win or lose.
Today, like most days, my monologue garnered only smiles. 

"I don't think I'll ever be like I was before I fell," she noted sadly, not looking at me, but off into the distance.  "It's all fuzzy now," she said,  "I'm fuzzy all the time! I just can't figure it out.  It's like I'm not all here.  I don't finish the crosswords.  I can't stay awake.  Maybe they took a part of my brain out when they fixed my hip?" she chuckled. 

We both laughed.  I was grateful that her wit and the ability to deliver a powerful one-liner returned, even if only for a moment.  I finished doing pills.  I picked up the Peabpod, Medco and Drugstore.com orders.  I assured the caregivers I'd be back and reminded them to call if they needed me.

"I'm fuzzy," she said after a long silence, "but I'm fortunate."

I wondered if she felt fortunate because she was home, in her familiar surroundings or if she felt fortunate that I was managing her bills, now.  I wondered if she felt fortunate because she had caregivers who cared.  Yet, I knew enough not to ask right then as she stared at the blank TV screen, the empty stare of someone who was indeed fuzzy, once again. 

I knew that I was fortunate, too.  As I implored lots of CCD students (in their Confirmation classes) to do, I was using my own "gifts" to help others. That afternoon, as the sun set, in the moments before her bedtime and my trip home for dinner, we had a moment when the fuzziness receded and good fortune prevailed. 


6 comments:

Stacey said...

This was sad to read and I'm sure it was challenging to write. You wrote it so eloquently, Anita.

I loved this line you captured:
"I'm fuzzy," she said after a long silence, "but I'm fortunate."
That speaks volumes about the woman she is.

Tara @ A Teaching Life said...

As Stacey said, this is a beautifully honest post, and one that must have been very difficult to write. This line really stayed with me: It's like I'm not all here. How very, very hard that must be.

Susan Seyan said...

I love that you feel compelled to write, because I appreciated reading this!
Thank you for sharing it.

Susan Seyan said...

I love that you feel compelled to write, because I appreciated reading this!
Thank you for sharing it.

writekimwrite said...

Such a bittersweet time. Happiness that she is still here, experiencing some recovery and feeling fortunate. Sad that things will never be the same and the times of withdrawl into fuzziness. You are doing so much by being there and standing by her. Thank you for sharing from you heart.

Ruth Ayres said...

Anita,
I'm glad you gathered these words and these feelings onto the page. Thank you for trusting us.

I'm touched by your ability to find the clarity through the fuzzy. I'm inspired by the way you grab hold of the good and capture it to remember.

You are a brave writer. Thank you.
Ruth