then took the other
Today's thoughts may be premature to tap "publish" if ever, but hang in my mind moving at least to be written, like that letter we are recommended to write then crumple up and never send.
Me at a remote place in life I never expected to be and, returning, find I've not returned at all but been pushed off the train at a station I neither know nor recognize. Who, what, where am I, who am I, where, why? Is this Lynchburg Station? December 1990 I was bum's-rushed off the sleeping car onto the open platform at dawn, still shivering in my PJs, as the train slowed but did not stop, all because the porter forgot to awaken me an hour beforehand. Is this Lynchburg again, or am I still asleep?
We are here in Pensacola because the ER physician in Panama City said ruptured aneurysm and, more than once, "there's no DNR, so we have no choice, we have to do something," making it quite clear that in his mind this was hopeless and with a DNR he would simply have turned off the machines. Then his words after being unable to helicopter her to Shands, Gainesville because of heavy weather, getting her accepted at Sacred Heart, Pensacola and saying, "God moves in mysterious ways." Yes, after the second neuro-procedure,
"Malinda, who is that standing at the foot of your bed?"
"My daddy" - -
Thank God there was no DNR.
Fortunate, blessed, the neuro skills here are beyond my imagination, I'd no idea medical science could do such wonders as to recall the brain from beyond the veil. And so Prince Caspian again, "But here you are."
I, we, she is here because Adam went in to Eve that night instead of meeting his buddies at the local pub. From the ages of ages, we are made who and what we are by every event, every road taken and specifically all roads not taken. Looking down a road narrowly missed because the physician had no DNR has so shaken my Being that I seem no longer whoever I was from 9/14/1935 to 5/18/2018. Nothing seems to matter but having taken the other road. Every parent who has ridden this tilt-a-whirl understands.
What no longer matters? Who sits, stands, or kneels during the national anthem. Regular or decaf. Who distracts worship by wandering around washing hands during the most holy part of sacred liturgy, the Eucharistic Prayer. Want that super-sized. Which channel. What's for supper. Which shirt to wear, clergy collar, necktie, or open. Whose invitation to the White House is cancelled. Why. Are the wafers warmed and crisp, or leathery. Who's the president. What year is this.
Can you tell me where you are. Who's running for office. For a political summit, the venue, agenda, and who goes. One lump or two. Want fries with that. What color. Scrambled or fried. I don't care. You decide. All I care about is that there was no DNR so we have to do something; what? take the other road and here you are. Not were, are. My child is alive.
Back to battery then, Shell Island Sunday: while the rabble-rousers eat pork butt and fried chicken, I shall celebrate and preach back at the fort, life as I love it.
T+ Somebody
Me at a remote place in life I never expected to be and, returning, find I've not returned at all but been pushed off the train at a station I neither know nor recognize. Who, what, where am I, who am I, where, why? Is this Lynchburg Station? December 1990 I was bum's-rushed off the sleeping car onto the open platform at dawn, still shivering in my PJs, as the train slowed but did not stop, all because the porter forgot to awaken me an hour beforehand. Is this Lynchburg again, or am I still asleep?
We are here in Pensacola because the ER physician in Panama City said ruptured aneurysm and, more than once, "there's no DNR, so we have no choice, we have to do something," making it quite clear that in his mind this was hopeless and with a DNR he would simply have turned off the machines. Then his words after being unable to helicopter her to Shands, Gainesville because of heavy weather, getting her accepted at Sacred Heart, Pensacola and saying, "God moves in mysterious ways." Yes, after the second neuro-procedure,
"Malinda, who is that standing at the foot of your bed?"
"My daddy" - -
Thank God there was no DNR.
Fortunate, blessed, the neuro skills here are beyond my imagination, I'd no idea medical science could do such wonders as to recall the brain from beyond the veil. And so Prince Caspian again, "But here you are."
I, we, she is here because Adam went in to Eve that night instead of meeting his buddies at the local pub. From the ages of ages, we are made who and what we are by every event, every road taken and specifically all roads not taken. Looking down a road narrowly missed because the physician had no DNR has so shaken my Being that I seem no longer whoever I was from 9/14/1935 to 5/18/2018. Nothing seems to matter but having taken the other road. Every parent who has ridden this tilt-a-whirl understands.
What no longer matters? Who sits, stands, or kneels during the national anthem. Regular or decaf. Who distracts worship by wandering around washing hands during the most holy part of sacred liturgy, the Eucharistic Prayer. Want that super-sized. Which channel. What's for supper. Which shirt to wear, clergy collar, necktie, or open. Whose invitation to the White House is cancelled. Why. Are the wafers warmed and crisp, or leathery. Who's the president. What year is this.
Can you tell me where you are. Who's running for office. For a political summit, the venue, agenda, and who goes. One lump or two. Want fries with that. What color. Scrambled or fried. I don't care. You decide. All I care about is that there was no DNR so we have to do something; what? take the other road and here you are. Not were, are. My child is alive.
Back to battery then, Shell Island Sunday: while the rabble-rousers eat pork butt and fried chicken, I shall celebrate and preach back at the fort, life as I love it.
T+ Somebody