After three operations on my foot, I'm sad to say I lost a toe. Not a terribly important toe--the fourth on my right foot, next to my baby toe--but I was attached to it. I'm still in rehab at Four Corners Health Care, a good place for me to be (even though most of the patients are over eighty years old), because it would be close to impossible for me to take care of myself at home, and here they have kind nurses and aids, plus great physical therapy. Can't give a rave to the food, but friends have been bringing good things to eat. 
These events have led me to a new story: Toe. It will be coming out this fall in an anthology that bestselling author, Mark Williams, will be bringing out. Sure to be dark and, I hope, funny. Writing it provides a diversion at the nursing home. I have to get it done while drifting in and out of pain meds...they're starting to kick in now.
Any way, here are a few thoughts:
I've been thinking about whole, in relation to loss. How can loss make a person whole? I do know that loss can make a person strong, more self-reliant. I'm learning that now.
Last night was difficult. I felt like a wounded animal.
Thank goodness for the tree outside my window. Thank goodness for the crows. I hear them cawing, despite everything. Despite war, and nuclear explosions, they continue.
It's impossible to get through this life without being wounded. Some wounds are obvious, others are internal--even spiritual. The loss of the ability to trust, to connect deeply, to hold a friend and know that you are loved.
We run away from wounds. Try not to look at them. We think they're signs of weakness, but our wounds--the holes in us--provide a doorway, a soft spot in our armor. We walk around, protected, armoring ourselves with platitudes and smiles, never touching our own vulnerabilities--afraid to share our tender rawness with another or even with ourselves.
This. This is what will lead to wholeness. Touching the tender spots, the fear, the sorrow. Knowing it for ourselves, and then, if we are lucky, exposing that soft underbelly to another, loving, human being--someone who will laugh with us and also cry. Someone who's not afraid to taste the salt of our tears, because salt makes all the difference between a bland, protected life, and a true life--pulsing, bloody, messy, passionate and truly whole.
***
Oddly, I can post on my blog, but I can't view it, due to firewalls in this facility. Your comments are welcome, but I'm not sure I can answer questions for a couple of weeks--when I can leave here. If you'd like to speak to me directly, please email me at Suzanne dot Tyrpak at gmail dot com.
Find something beautiful in your life to appreciate today.
Any way, here are a few thoughts:
I've been thinking about whole, in relation to loss. How can loss make a person whole? I do know that loss can make a person strong, more self-reliant. I'm learning that now.
Last night was difficult. I felt like a wounded animal.
Thank goodness for the tree outside my window. Thank goodness for the crows. I hear them cawing, despite everything. Despite war, and nuclear explosions, they continue.
It's impossible to get through this life without being wounded. Some wounds are obvious, others are internal--even spiritual. The loss of the ability to trust, to connect deeply, to hold a friend and know that you are loved.
We run away from wounds. Try not to look at them. We think they're signs of weakness, but our wounds--the holes in us--provide a doorway, a soft spot in our armor. We walk around, protected, armoring ourselves with platitudes and smiles, never touching our own vulnerabilities--afraid to share our tender rawness with another or even with ourselves.
This. This is what will lead to wholeness. Touching the tender spots, the fear, the sorrow. Knowing it for ourselves, and then, if we are lucky, exposing that soft underbelly to another, loving, human being--someone who will laugh with us and also cry. Someone who's not afraid to taste the salt of our tears, because salt makes all the difference between a bland, protected life, and a true life--pulsing, bloody, messy, passionate and truly whole.
***
Oddly, I can post on my blog, but I can't view it, due to firewalls in this facility. Your comments are welcome, but I'm not sure I can answer questions for a couple of weeks--when I can leave here. If you'd like to speak to me directly, please email me at Suzanne dot Tyrpak at gmail dot com.
Find something beautiful in your life to appreciate today.
3 comments:
Don't know when you'll see this, but seriously sorry for your loss!! That's incredible to think one tiny moment (or rather, a big moment as it was a flight of airplane stairs) leaves you without something you are so "attached" to! Hope you heal up soon and the meds don't make your writing toooooo bizarre ;)
YA: Cheat, Liar, Coward, Thief, Thug
Adult: Shackled
Hi J.E., I finally got out of rehab! Wow! Lots of material there.
I did get some writing done--but I was pretty spacy. I did write a short story, that I really like, called Toe. It will be coming out in an anthology this fall.
<3
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