moving and ice

This morning, it took us about ten minutes to get down the stairs, then about 15 to get back up. It took us five minutes to walk to the bathroom, and five in the opposite direction. We did that several times. We waited ten minutes before standing up. We almost fell a few times. We checked our e-mail, by typing with the index finger on our left hand -- our right hand is beaten up after a fall. We clicked three times with the mouse, and soon logged out. It was tiring. Despite best efforts, there was no way we were going to the store this afternoon. Going to the store would force us down the stairs once more, into the car, out of the car, to the shopping cart, around the store, through the check-out line, in the car once again, then up the garage stairs, up the stairs to the second level, across to the bedroom, then into the bed. We'll go to the store another day. I'm only five feet, and he has a foot and dozens of pounds on me.

Sometimes, we take mobility for granted. In my case, I take it for granted every day. Today, I'm grateful.

I cried for the first time since I've been back. I needed to take money out of one bank and put it into a second, and on my way out of the first, the teller wished me a happy Thanksgiving.

Ironically, that's what did it for me. That simple outstretch of community, of humanity, was what broke me.

I think we're kind of like ice, sometimes. As long as you keep us in the freezer, we're all right. We'll stay ice forever, solid and cold and clear and hard. But the minute you introduce any heat into the equation, even just a degree of warmth, we crack. Our hard edges soften; our temperature rises; we melt. It isn't easy to keep cold for long.

Sitting in the driver's seat, I got on my cell phone and called one of the most amazing women in my life. She's always been here for me, through thick and thin. She opened the freezer door; I melted. We prayed together, for peace and joy for my family, for physical and emotional and spiritual healing for my dad and, really, for all of us. I was, figuratively, a puddle.

It was beautiful.