Q is for Quiet
The kind that comes after a storm. Friday night we drove home in a blinding snowstorm, the kind where the sky and the road are the same color and you’re not entirely sure which direction is forward. I couldn’t see the lines in the road, I couldn’t see the edge. Half the time I didn’t know if I was in the breakdown lane or in the lane where I should be. I just kept whispering “Please Lord keep us on the road, and keep us safe.”
By the time we pulled into our drive way, It felt like my shoulders were up around my ears and my hands felt permanently shaped like they were still wrapped around the steering wheel.
Finally home, but still feeling the stress of the last few days. Still feeling the disappointment of cancelling my trip to Florida, feeling like I was letting my granddaughter Noelle down. She didn’t know I was coming, it was a birthday surprise, but she asked me several times to come for her birthday and my daughter told me after face timing the other night, she cried before bed because she misses me, which breaks my heart.
Mike felt just as bad. But we both know there was no way I could have left him. His arm was still “dead” from the nerve block and he couldn’t do anything for himself. He kept apologizing and that stressed me out more. There was no need to be sorry, it’s not like he planned for a blood clot. This is life, it happens. Everything happens for a reason.
I barely slept that night, between watching him and Oscar needing to go out several times in the middle of the night. I’m guessing he too was nervous in the changes. He knew his daddy wasn’t quite right and we were both gone for more hours than we usually are. I had stopped home between work and the hospital to let him out, but once I got him back in, I had to leave again. I’m sure he was confused, which made him restless.
The next day (Saturday) was heavy in that quiet, exhausted way. He was weak, his Oxygen kept dropping low. He had heart palpitations, his blood pressure was high and he had anxiety. Found a kink in his oxygen hose, fixed that and his Oxygen went up to a safer level. He needed help getting dressed, getting his jacket on, walking out to the car, fastening his seatbelt… it’s been awhile since he has been so weak and unsteady. After dropping him off at dialysis, I had a choice, go straight into responsibility mode, groceries, errands, productivity. Instead, I made a small, rebellious turn. I took myself to a movie.
I purchased my ticket, a bag of popcorn, a drink, straw and a bunch of napkins and went into the theatre. I sat right in the middle of the row, directly in the center of the screen. There was only a handful of people there. I sat where there is a guardrail in front of the seats, and I was able to put my feet up on the railing while I munched my popcorn. While the previews of other movies played, I sat there feeling tense, I prayed for a minute for Mike, for our kids and for myself. Tears filled my eyes, I knew there was a reason other than buttery popcorn that I needed the wad of napkins I grabbed. As the previews played on, I felt the tension in my shoulders melt away a little, and I felt I could breathe more normally, if only for a short time. Ninety minutes or so in the dark. No weather reports, no mental checklists and no crisis management. Just sitting quietly still, while the nurses at Fresenius Kidney Care took care of Mike.
The quiet wasn’t dramatic, it didn’t fix anything. It didn’t change the road conditions or the responsibilities waiting for me in the parking lot. But it steadied me. I thought of the scripture Mark 6:31 when Jesus said to the apostles “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.”
Sometimes quiet isn’t absence, it’s provision.
With the low temperatures outside, the roads didn’t magically clear up from the storm the night before. Mike was still sick, dialysis was still happening. Responsibilities were still waiting for me. But for 90 minutes I let myself be still to and catch my breath.
I’m learning that stepping away for a little while isn’t selfish, it’s necessary. Because if I am going to keep driving through storms, sitting in hospital rooms, and showing up steady when he is weak, then I have to let myself be still when I can. I even took a two hour nap today while he was asleep.
Q is for quiet. Not because life is calm, but because taking care of myself is part of taking care of him, and that too is strength.
I'm grateful for everything you have done for me. That ride home in the storm was scary. I knew you were having a hard time. I think the Lord guided us home. I was praying for the whole ride. We shouldn't have been on the road. Concerned for Oscer and just wanting the day to end. I tried to let you nap and was able to put Oscar out several times. He was being a brat. I ķnew he was worried about me. You saw home he tried to protect me. He can be a handful, but I can't imagine us without him. I don't want to imagine him not here. Ì truly feel bad that you missed your trip to Florida. I never would have survived without you. I thought I was tougher than I really was. I'm still having some a hard time. I hate being so dependent. I like to do things myself. It's the French in me. Idk. Plus other things in our life that we had to deal with. I'm glad you took time for yourself. I'm looking forward to seeing that movie too. I can wait until it's on TV. Now we have this crazy northeastern coming. I pray we don't loose power or that our new roof leaks. I'm still pissed about that. Anyways, I know thank you isn't enough for all that you've done. I love you and hope I can make it up to you. I hate being like this. I miss being able to do things. I'm trying to get stronger so I can give you a break. I've got to much fight in me to give up. I'll get my strength back. So that I can at least do some chores instead of you doing everything. The last thing I ever wanted was to be a burden. With all of this, It's hard on both of us. I'm trying Honey not to keep having you help me. I just thought it be sooner than it is.
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