Gratitude

The bottom of my foot was sliced open Sunday. Badly. It’s healing nicely, but I’m wary of putting any pressure on it. So today, finally, I asked for help. My mother taught me not to, she was stoic. I am too, but I need water, a shower, bananas, and garbage disposal. 

Organizing myself to row Tink to the marina seemed a Sisyphean task, especially with the shifting wind. So I figured out how to use the VHF radio by listening to other calls, and hailed a water taxi. Fortunately, my friend Francisco answered. He understands my Spanish, and I understand his English.

On Thanksgiving, I awoke thinking of Mom. She had turned mean with pain, and I now have a better understanding of that. Our last Xmas together was a trial. Yet I love her, she loves me, we did the best we could. I’m glad we were able to travel this life together when we could. She was an amazing healer, and I was priveleged to see her in action. As a kinesiologist and physical therapist she treated people with quadraplegia, multiple sclerosis, cancer, war wounds, strokes, as well as your garden variety accident victims. She never talked down to her patients, and used humor to great effect.

In my teens, Sunday nights were Family Night, and we gave each other energy treatments. I re-instituted that practice when I moved to the South to be near her several years ago. We would lie on her bed holding hands, her sheer blue draperies blowing like sails in the wind. Sometimes we listened to a meditation CD, sometimes we told stories and laughed. Sometimes we cried. We always finished by reciting the family blessing about the Divine Word.

Today I leaned on Francisco, having turned down a wheelchair. He was patient and kind, and I am grateful.

May the Divine Word be spoken, in us, with us, through us, and all around us.