A year ago this morning, we were on a 4 day bike trip in Wisconsin. We woke up and biked over to a restaurant in Mineral Point for breakfast. The night before, we'd run into a bartender who was new on the job and poured "straight" drinks with outlandish generosity. Geof and I ordered Absolut on the rocks. I went the rest of the evening on that huge drink. We talked about divorce. I was chafing and resentful, Geof, a more recent veteran than I, was cautionary.
After breakfast we headed out on a spectacular ride, the sun shining and the wind at our backs. Toward 3 in the afternoon, I missed a curve at the bottom of a hill on the way to New Glarus and flew out in a helicopter, bound for Madison and the world of trauma. My family was thrown into a Summer of stress, drama and interdependence, Robyn and I were thrown, no hurled together at a time when we were emotionally the farthest apart from each other.
This morning, as I wait for the coffee to boil, I'm mindful of all the changes in my life. I'm an inch shorter, a little bent, sometimes I'm stiff. Robyn and the kids and I are close and much, much happier. In a year, I'm recovered to the point that folks are surprised when I mention the accident. We were commenting that it seems more than a year since it happened.
I was talking to Robyn the other day and wondered out loud if we'd have made it through this year as a couple if I hadn't been rendered totally helpless, if she hadn't been forced to care for me, if we hadn't had to spend all that time together with my healing. We don't know.
If God had said, "Hey Tuna, your life will get a lot better if you can fly through the air, break your back in three places and smash your face to bits." I don't think I'd have taken him up on the opportunity.
That's what happened though. Happy Father's day.
No comments:
Post a Comment