Like the sunrise, she arrives with a coffee and a smile that somehow changes the brightness of the room. She did again today. There’s a quiet discipline in the way she shows up, in the way she holds herself together. I don’t see her cry, she doesn’t let me, but I imagine those moments exist somewhere else, likely on the drive home where the weight finally has somewhere to land. For me, she stays composed. For me, she is STRENGTH. One of the few true constants in my life. I don’t deserve her but also, I can’t think of who would deserve someone like her. So it might as well be me I guess.
Last night didn’t offer much rest, and mornings like that come with their own kind of vulnerability. When I’m tired, everything feels closer to the surface. The body remembers things the mind tries to file away. The shortness of breath, the indigestion, familiar in a way I wish it wasn’t, echoes of that morning I can’t quite outrun – the day of the heart attack. It crept in and, for a moment, so did the panic. Like always she helped steady me. I’ve learned to meet those moments with something grounding, tracing letters into my skin like a quiet conversation with myself. It used to be “CALM.” Lately, it’s been “STRENGTH.” Not as a declaration, but as a reminder. That I’m alive. That I’m safe. That I’m cared for. That I’m a fighter. I used nurse Sam’s sharpie and wrote it on my arm this morning as a reminder of “Ok, well let’s GO.” Ref, ring the bell – I’m gamebred.
It takes a long time to build muscle, and almost no time at all to watch it fade. I have watched it wither away in a matter of weeks. Where does it go? Life has a way of reminding you how fragile the good can be, how quickly it can shift, and how stubbornly hard it is to build anything meaningful. Still, I find myself wanting to start again. To rebuild. Stronger. More durable. Something that feels a little closer to indestructible like before. Strength has never been an issue for me until recently. Maybe God’s reminder of some humility – hot shot.
“And at once I knew I was not magnificent” - Bon Iver
After the morning, the day got better. Two of my favorite visitors stopped by, Twan and Caby. We had some laughs and told old stories. That always makes things feel a bit more normal. Two other constants in my life. If there’s better friends out there, I haven’t found them. What legends. A gentle reminder of who I am. There was also an unexpected kind of visitor, a therapy dog named Jules. It’s strange how quickly a dog can change a room. The energy, the way everything just feels lighter for a moment. I’m a cat dad but I’m looking forward to getting my own therapy dog this summer. And I’m looking forward to sharing it with others.
The doctors had good things to say. Progress is happening, and it feels like it’s happening faster now. I feel a lot better than a few days ago. Walking into the ER a few days ago I was a shell of myself. I’m writing this from my “office” today. It looks different than the one I’m used to, but the view isn’t too bad, I guess. I have my grapes and my ear buds which are essentials lately. This has become its own kind of routine. “Coffee and a Smile” shows up and brightens the day, and when she has to leave, I write. I write to kill the afternoon and evening until I watch the Cardinals, basketball, or hockey at night. It’s an odd existence, but lately I’ve made it work and somehow kept my sanity.
Thanks for reading these. They’re therapeutic for me. Today’s not as expressive as the others but that’s ok, because of the lack of sleep I’m not as poetic and sharp today. I want to thank the band Pinegrove for today’s soundtrack and help through the panic attack. Here’s some Pinegrove for you.
The Barn 