A Simple Gift: Washed, rinsed and drip dyingA rush towards the door, no time to pour a to-go cup, too hurried to put on his coat it’s enough that he has it in one hand, the two panting dogs receive a quick dismissal.
“David will feed you.”
Four words. Presumption never sounded so good.
Six months ago I was flat on my back, only allowed strained hospital food. Five months ago my therapy included placing pegs into a board, throwing a ball and reciting phone numbers. Opening a can was an unspoken aspiration.
Did I mention the drooling.
This morning, as he sped out of the house, I was once again an option. I would take care of things, not just be taken care of. At 8:00 I wobbled to the kitchen, successfully avoiding on the frenzied Weimaraners, carried the bowls, opened the cans, remembered the meds, fed the grrls, and washed up after. A Simple task. I’ve done it before. It was the assumption that I hadn’t heard in a long time. Music, my ears, you know the feeling.
Last December, I was repeatedly whining about my limitations and my lack of improvement, my sister Karen sent me a list of my simple “successes” that I saved and even put on my computer’s dock to click on for motivation.
I look at Karen’s list, my growth chart, when I need a reminder of how my wounded brain is still taking care of me.
I will mentally add feeding the grrls and Brian’s parole from this prison I created to her log.
- - - David
1 comment:
Thank god for sisters & lists! Progress is measured in simple steps. Of course the dogs don't notice any changes, do they?
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