There are times in life when you just know that you are in the right place at the right time.  It's magic.  It doesn't happen often.  But, I think we are there right now.  I went to a home today to look at potential buys for the store and sadness prevailed.  I couldn't get away from there fast enough. 

That's not what our life is like.  Sure, it's a bit complicated, and sometimes totally exhausting, but our life is clean.  It is sure.  It is confident.  We know we have each other, we know we have family, we know we have friends, we have faith and we look forward to a future. 

Tonight was movie night.  This has been a tradition for some 10 years.  The group has expanded, but the pattern is the same.  Early movie, drinks, snacks and discussion to follow.  Home before 8.  Simple but clean.  It stopped for a while after the accident but started again once we managed transportation and mobility.  So tonight we laughed with friends, we teased one another about heritage, we talked of favorites and we didn't talk about "poor us." 

Poor us gets old.  Who can really carry that for long?  Even the best can only carry it for a few months and then it just gets old.  So, here we are in this magic place.  Right place, right time.  Good friends who can laugh and ignore the "poor us" with either us or themselves, and just talk about movies and musicals and travel and heritage. 

Tonight we brushed shoulders with real heros of war, champions of track, survivors of life's lesser bests, masters of beauty and feasting, rodeo winners and faith warriers.  We are honored to call them friends.  Right place, right time, right people.  Poor us just doesn't register. 

So today he went to therapy.  First time in 2 weeks.  It went okay, but he is so tired.  Tired is the word for the dayl  He's tired, I'm tired, Ubaldo is tired.  We work hard at not being tired., but tired just catches up and takes over. Tired can own you.  Tired is a master.  Tired can control everything if you but let it.  Tired is a cruel equilizer.  Tired just is.  The fight against tired is cruel.  Sit, stand, lift, lift again, lift lift, lift. 

Nobody thinks about the mechanics of lifting a leg, or arm, until it is impossible.  Right now lift your leg at bended knee 10 times.  Do it.  And think about it.  Ten times.  It was't hard was it?  But for Jed, it is a major event, a relevation, it is an amazing accomplishment.  The spinal cord is in control.  Yours is doing what it was meant to do, Jed's is not. 

We don't complain about our lot in life.  We just are aware.  We are aware that most people spend a lifetime worring about the unimportant.  It is so clear to us now that our focus needs to be on love.  Love for one another, love for family, love for the history that we have and love for the future.  Love is a well used word but critical in our existance.  Love.  When you say  the word love,  freedom pours our of your skin.  Love..   Empowering and  complete.  Love.  We only get one chance at this life.   We do our best, gather the best around us, and pray that what we have done will be seen as acceptable, but the truth is, none of us really know. 

Jed and I both spent most of our productive lifes as teachers.   Small joys come to us from those years.  That's probably how it should be.  Small joys and short stories.  We have many of them, short stories of children.  We like to think we made a difference, and for some we probably did, but for most we were just there.  We were a stepping stone, a passage, an unimportant memory that will fade.  That is hard to accept, but a truth that will prevail. 

Now, we focus on simple stuff.  How to stand, how to take a simple step, how to to a sit up, how to be upright longer than prone.  We rememeber the expectatons we put on children and we wonder if we could ahieve what we once expected from them. 

We are not bitter, we are just aware.  Aware is a good thing.  Aware  makes us free to be complete. 

Jed hasn't been to therapy for almost 2 weeks.  He was doing so good.  Walking even.  On real land, not just in the water.  He was very proud and expecting to be an independent walker by the end of the month.  But then he got a fever.  Who knows what brought it on.  Just a fever.  We got antibiotics and he's better, but now he has lost his walking memory. Sounds funny, but that's what it is.  We have to start over retraining and reminding his muscles what to do in order to walk.  He can't even stand alone now. 

He's been there once, so he will get there again, but it is not a direct line.  Progress.  It's not a direct line from one accomplishment to another.  It's a zig zag and sometimes a complete hault.  I imagine all life is like that.  That is why we need Faith.  Without it, facing a tomorrow would be near impossible. 

I have spent the last few days simply sad.  Sad is unproductive and very self serving, but sometimes it's the only thing that works.  Sad gives away to slothiness and messiness and fear.  Sad and Scared go together.  They have a life of their own.  They sees colors different,  prepare food different,  speak to people different,  even dress different.  Sad and Scared are okay.  Sometimes they just need to be recognized, acknowleged and papered a bit.  Sad or Scared don't live long when they're exposed.  Sad and Scared are friends of the dark.  We don't live in the dark.  Not for long anyway.  We chose light.  We chose hope.  We chose tomorrow. 

So we move on.  Tomorrow we will go to therapy and try to regain what the fever, Sad and Scared took.  We will try to rebuid hope and personal goals.  Tomorrow is a new day. 

Have you ever been bit in the ass by a spider?  Let me assure you that your energies will be focused on your bottom end for quite an extended period of time.  Imagine the circumference of a drinking glass as hard as a rock, flaming red and very painful.  Of course, it's also right where you sit. 

No more information is needed.  That's why I haven't written.  Any free time has been spent soaking in a hot salty tub.  One night while I sat soaking I looked differently at the stainded glass window that is above our tub and became so appreciative of the unknown hands that made it, that I was brought to tears.  I soaked out the pain as I examined the beauty and detail that had gone into the window at another time and in another country.  All I know about the window is that I bought it from a local antique store (before I was the best in the county) and  asked Jed if he would "cut a hole in the wall and put this window there."  I had undeveloped appreciation of the love and skill it would take for him to complete the task, but he did.  Because I asked him to. 
But, as I lay there soaking out the poisens of an eight legged intruder to my underwear, I was overwhelmed with the beauty.  Not only the beauty and symmentry of the window, but the beauty and symmentry of life itself. 
Once, my Jed could lift a huge and delicate window, carry it up a trecherous stair, cut a hole in a wall to precision and fit the window that I had picked out fresh off the boat from "somewhere in Europe" into the perfect spot.  It's there now for me to enjoy when life, or spiders, slow me down a bit.  There's beauty and balance in all that.  I like to imagine the person who put lead to colored glass and while I do both spider pain and life"s uneasiness soak gently away. 
Now, Jed and I celebrate self-standing.  Practice for yourself for a moment and think about what it takes to stand up.  We do it without thought.  Jed has to concentrate and demand performance out of every muscle in order to make the self-stand possible.   Even then it is fleeting.  One minute, two, once we made five minutes.  He was used up.  He had put everything into 5 minutes of being upright without help. 

We're a stained glass window.  One day we will be a beautiful example of perserverance and choice, but now, we're just pieces of broken parts trying to bond and find the connection that will make us beautiful.  One day someone will be soaking away their pain and will look at us and be brought to tears for the beauty of creativity.  Until then we will fit the pieces we have in to what we can. 

Today I told a neighbor that "we have had a good year."  It surprised me as the words came out.  This was a neighbor we hardly knew and he said something about "no matter how bad you have it there is always somebody who has it worse."  I've never really enjoyed that outlook on life, but this year it has rang true.  We have it real bad.  It sucks it's so bad.  But, amazingly we are quite happy. 

I've talked at length about the church family, the friends, the family.  Our hearts are always fillled up.  We have a gardner who brings casseroles, family who lifts us, church members who bring dinners,  and a care giver direct from the lap of God.  All is well with our souls. Jed, is, however a continuing quadriplegic. 

So, we lift and transfer and turn and treat and give the care that the condition requires.  But, we have had a good year.  It's all come together.  We've had time to reflect, to look at life more simply, to appreciate, to value, to trust and love.  It has been the year we wish would never have come, but the year that has moved us beyond ourselves. 

On Saturday I did something for me.  I auditioned to sing the National Anthem for the Dodgers.  It was a big deal for me, a bucket list item.  But I did it, and am proud of myself.  I have no idea what will come of this, probably nothing, but I grabbed that mic and sang my heart out.  You see, one of the finer things I've learned this year is to grab the goodies while you can.  So I went out and grabbed them. 

My grandmother lived to be 98 years old.  She lived by herself for many years. I had a good relationship with her and would ask her about aging.  She said that she, "feels no different at all, except all her friends died."  The point is, we really don't feel different as we go through the stages of our lives.  Ours is to enjoy, live, love and participate in.  Should it be difficult or painful or ugly, well, that is just the way it is.  But, in the midst of it all there are goodies to grab.  Joy.  And if we don't go for it?

Years ago when Jed was quiting teaching, we talked about how he should quit.  My idea for him was to retire from teaching, take his pension and "live happily ever after."  His idea was to explore opportunities and take risks and have a hell of a good time.  He said over and over, "I need to have my arms and legs."  We decided that he should be free to explore opportunities.  So he explored.  And we had a "hell of a good time."   We dreamed dreams that most can't even think.  We lived high and we planed for a time when we could spread the wealth to our grandchildren and loved ones.  We lived on the edge and knew we were there.  He had his arms and legs.  And now he doesn't.  But, we still dream dreams and we still live high.  It's just different. 

Tonight I have a "life is good even though my husband can't move or care for himeself" attitude.  I don't really know where this comes from.  But I know that we have lived a remarkble life.  Arms and legs don't make a happy life.  Somewhere there is inner peace.  It may not last, and the next time I write I may be angry and mean, but, now, even though life is really shitty and who would ever want this one.  I pick ours.  It's hard, it's sometimes very sad and it's not at all how we planned our "retirement," but we are complete by the essence of each other.  We don't have arms and legs, but we soar.

Hope is like oxygen. Without it the body is slowly starved and dies. But with hope great things can happen. The body breaths, the body becomes aware that somewhere beyond what medicine can do, Hope takes over and moves mountains (or in our case, limbs.) When you walk into our home you can tell that hope lives there. It has occassionaly taken the dog for a walk and the lack of it strangles us with anxiety, but when it's there, it is tangible, almost visible. Faith, Hope, Love. The bible says the greatest of these is LOVE. I suppose. I guess it is LOVE that exists first and drives the need for the other two. It's HOPE that levitates and FAITH that makes us know both will continue.

I've wanted to write about Hope for months, but Despair has gotten in the way.  Well, here it is again, Hope.  I'm even thinking of painting the porch and building a ramp so that Jed can get to the back yard.  What a person needs to live a very happy life is very situational.  We were trained to believe that it meant all the trappings, all the stuff.  But life and the happiness of it is really quite simple...a little touch, a smile of assurance, some discussion of life and the way things are, and an occassional glass of brandy. 

My son once said about some decisions that we made, "It takes the bite out of life for both of us."  Wow, if we are blessed enough to have a son or daughter who shares the burdens and joys of life, how can we feel deprived of life's blessings. 

I have a friend who reads this blog regularly and will know that this is about her.  Hope surrrounds you.  You have been bathed in it.  We all have if just but turn on the faucet.  Hope is a choice.  I choose hope.  How something so vital for life could be a choice is very confusing, but here we are again at the dim mirror. 

We're nearing the year mark.  Life was one way before and life is another since.  As anniversaries will have you do, we have been remembering.  Last night at the "after the movie discussion-eat-and-drink-time,"  Jed was asked, "Just how did this happen, anyway?" and "Were you unconscious?" among other questions of rememberance.  So it all came back like a flash, the blood, the fear, the sirens, the EMTs, the lost keys, the "who should I call?," the skull bone, the knowing raised eyebrows, ...it all came back.  ER is a very frightful place.  There's puke, police, panic and prom dresses all within an eyes view.  I had forgotten, but I remember now, the bathroom angel.  I was deadpan.  She looked at me and said, "Can I help?"  From out of nowhere she comforted and prayed with me.  I looked at her through tears and said, "Who are you?"  She had flown in from Texas just that evening for a wedding tomorrow and ended up in ER with a friend.  She assured me that Jed would be fine, walked out and I never saw her again. That kind of stuff has been happening for a year. 

As terrible as this year has been, I can't say that it has been all bad.  Jed and I have a stonger more trusting relationship than ever, our kids and family  have surrounded us with love and support, we have become rich and wonderful friends with our care giver, we have been carried by our church and friends for months, and, even though we have  lost our lifetime envestment, we have gradually climbed out, and are feeling somewhat like butterflies with wet wings, knowing that something wonderful is ahead of us, but fully aware that this is not yet the time. 
Easter is a good time to think about what lies ahead and to look at the future with hope.