Through the various seasons of life, there is one thing we can always count on: There will be joy and there will be agony. I think it’s the agony that keeps us humble.
Yesterday, my sisters and I attended a surprise birthday party for our mom’s friend. Shirley had worried us when, not long after my mom’s passing, she ended up in the hospital and hit a patch of challenges.
Now she is celebrating 90 years, and we were happy to get to see another of our mom’s lifelong friends, Janet, there to celebrate on her own 92nd birthday. Both ladies are still sassy and silly and sharp, making the day an extremely fun one.
This morning we headed out early to watch our young granddaughter play in a YMCA basketball league. We’ve watched her get a little bit better each game, but she still had been holding back, it seemed, especially in defensive play. She considered each practice agony. Today, that hesitant little wall came down when she scored the first four points of the game. Her smile lit up the place, and from that point on, little Landry was off to the races!
She just celebrated her 7th birthday and thinks it’s the birthday that made all the difference.
“I was only 6 when I started playing this game, (two months ago) but I’m older now,” she told me when I praised her after today’s big win.
She scored 10 points today and did a great job rebounding, dribbling the ball down the court and passing to her teammates. I guess that birthday solidified every aspect of her game.
And then there is my husband. The joy of living here nearly came to a screeching halt the week before Christmas, when he suffered the agony of a bad fall while going out to the barn one cold night. We had been busy all day since the weather was mild. As temperatures fell, our new asphalt driveway had turned slick.
I was busy preparing dinner and started to wonder why he wasn’t back in the house yet. I looked out toward the barn and saw the doors were still open, making me wonder if he had even made it to the barn. I grabbed a coat and headed out, and found him lying on the driveway, knocked out. He had fallen so hard that his hat had gone flying back about 10 feet from where he lay.
As I tried to warm him up with my winter coat, I called for help. The sound of the sirens heading toward us fairly quickly brought me great relief, while Doug looked at me and said, “I don’t know why I’m here.”
I told him the squad was on its way, and he said, “Oh, don’t call the squad — they’ll make me go to the hospital!” By this time, I had discovered a massive lump on the back of his head and told him that’s exactly where he needed to go.
The squad volunteers were the best, each one kind, caring and professional. I’ve never been more grateful to have help show up, assess and then transport Doug to the hospital.
He was admitted after CT scans showed a brain bleed and a humdinger of a concussion; the hematoma on the back of his head was impressive in its size. He immediately started plotting his escape. This assured me he was still the determined, ornery fellow I married 42 years ago. He is now back to doing most chores and loving life after a few weeks of quiet agony.
