I have been hit by a truck and can say with some authority that these past few weeks have not been as bad as that experience. But they have been close.
Yet sitting next to me as I hash out the first draft of this post sits Grand Child 7, two years old and talking up a storm. We are going over the puzzle assembled earlier, pointing out ducks and sheep, cows and horses. He has learned the new word “silo”, but the tractor is still his favorite part of the picture. Earlier we assembled blocks, and before that he lured me off the couch and onto the floor so we could wrestle. Believe it or not he always manages to pin me after a bit of tussle, sometimes with the help of his brother.
We have spent time with Daughters Middle and Youngest, both doing all they can to make the last few days as easy as possible while waiting to see what turn life might be taking. We have gotten to know the Grand Parents of one of our Grand Children much better. Indeed, they offered their home as a quiet, fireplace-warmed port in a storm. One where Deb could rest for a couple of days after surgery. Bare acquaintances before, they have become friends to whom we are deeply indebted for their kindness. Others offered their homes as well, since it would have been hard to keep the Grandchildren (5) of Daughter Middle's home from jumping all over DeMa as soon as she walked in the door from the hospital. Though we long to be home, the weeks added to our stay turned out to be all for the good.
We may yet catch up with a couple of friends dearly missed these past months, and have even latched onto a Realtor who is pretty sure he can sell our place come June, for a good price and in less than 60 days. I don't know if he can do it, but he sure thinks he can. Someone looking at our past month though eyes other than Deb's or mine, would see a remarkable human story. Hell, even Southwest Airlines got into the act, rescheduling our flight home a couple of times as medical needs dictated, and doing so with a minimum of fuss or hassle. (Take that Santa Clause!) And while we have been working our way through all this Kintala has been under the watchful eye of friends moored nearby. One less thing to worry about so, THANKS GUYS! When we get home sundowners will be on Kintala, and we can all talk of plans to head to the Islands.
… it looks like we will start our second year out beat up, scarred, sick, and limping. The cold of the ICW, engine failure in Oriental, the PA Thing, the summer of the Bear, and this past two weeks of dealing with the most expensive health care system on the planet, have added up to the hardest run we have faced since ... well ... since I got hit by a truck the first time around. Only two on that list were not the direct result of moving onto the boat, and those were much harder to handle from a floating base than they would have been from a fixed one. At the moment it feels like going forward isn't so much determination or choice as it is just force of habit. We live on a boat. Tomorrow is another day. Figure it out.
That is, after all, what life boils down to, figuring it out. How to live the life we want. How to see the things we want to see. How to face the things we have no control over which, as it turns out, is most of them. And how to look back and say, "That was a life well lived."
First though, is a couple of more days with wrestling matches, block buildings, and puzzles. We are doing okay.