There’s always a silver lining, you just have to find it. Of course that means there are also clouds. Same for the rainbow. It comes with rain. Such a simple but profound lesson for life. Clouds and rain come with silver linings and rainbows. Sometimes a celestial conjunction. Thank heavens.
Our doubly dark cloud of cardiac surgery during a pandemic is long enough past now for me to be able to see the positive.
Examples abound. Surviving with some insights about perspective and priorities. Craig’s convalescence coinciding with a shut-down. An interesting construction project for distraction. Connecting with people. Slowing down.
Connecting with people, in particular, has been a pleasurable ripple effect of Craig’s medical misadventure. Everyone in our lives, from our families to our forever friends, to work colleagues to Craig’s public school hockey coach. From those we speak to regularly to those we rarely talk to but always know are there, and you are, especially when need arises. We have savoured connecting and, in some cases, reconnecting over much time and distance. We felt both buoyed and cradled by you.
A move, a pandemic and a brush with death. Bang, bang, bang. Two brushes with death if you count my fall at Cougar Canyon.
But much to be thankful for. Life, health, people. Leisure. The photos attest.
Go ahead and judge our non-existent physical distancing over the summer. We were bad. The cottage becomes an escape for those stuck with cancelled travel plans. Some missing France. Others Ontario. Coming to the Shuswap instead. We welcome every visit as an opportunity for Laura, Craig’s nonagenarian mother, to engage with others. Gives us a break. All we ask is that you nod when she asks if you are from Grenfell.
It’s a lot of fun and, like so much fun, just a bit on the wrong side of the rules. We are being much more careful now. Thankful for our luck at not getting infected.
Our rebuild project is now so extensive that Vernon city hall requires our builder provide us with a new house warranty. The old house has been stripped away to the barest of bones, like a beached whale, mostly either eaten or decomposed. A big skeleton.
We hope to be in the new house by the end of this year.
Craig is on the mend. We remain ever aware of what happened. Ever on the lookout for complications. Mindful of Craig’s surgery. A new aortic valve sewn into his heart. A graft placed in the aorta itself. Five wounds. His chest looks like he was in a knife fight.
Life goes on. The sun keeps rising and setting. The seasons change. A virus comes. The world stops and closes. Life goes on. The sun, the seasons, the moon, the weather. A heart breaks. A hand heals. Life goes on.
Those of us living through this historic time are witnessing tremendous global upheaval. Suddenly our lives morph into something simpler, pared down, stripped back to the basics. Craig & I feel grateful to be mostly hapless bystanders. We watch the news a lot, sometimes addictively. Dismayed and entertained in equal measure.
We hope every one is well able to navigate life on planet Earth 2021. It is looking to be a rocky ride. Once this is over and we are all hungry for social interaction, we will see you back at the great table of life, once more indulging in the bountiful smorgasbord of experience that it is. Well, has been. Can it be again?
Fingers crossed we can see you… not even sometime soon… just again.