A Pause

Today is the day we planned to begin our road trip.  We had it all planned out.  I’d mapped out the route and made motel reservations for each night.  We’d written to each of the people we hoped to visit.  Andrea had asked the post office to hold our mail.  We took some of our potted plants to our son’s house so he could take care of them while we were away.  I counted the pills in my prescription bottles to be sure I’d have enough for the trip.  We planned our perishable food to run out this morning.  I’d even written checks to pay our estimated taxes, even though they aren’t due until mid-June.  We were ready.

Then, last Thursday evening, while I was driving us home from a long, enjoyable dinner with friends in town, I blanked out.  Andrea shouted, “Kate! Watch out!” and I retook control of the car.  It scared us both, but I got us home safely.  We spent the next five hours with medical personnel, trying to figure out what happened, with no firm conclusions.

So now we stay home for followup appointments.  And I’m reluctant to drive.

Over the weekend I’ve been through all the stages of grief.  I’m a Detroit girl, who at ten years of age listed a Corvette at the top of my Christmas wish list.  (Just to be clear: I had no expectation of getting a Corvette.  My family didn’t have the money and neither I nor my parents were that foolish.)   Driving is important to me.  I know that in all probability I will have to give up driving at some point — I’m just not ready for that point to be now.

And after the long year of hiding in our house, we were ready to go.  Did you ever watch a wildlife show where they capture a lion?  When they’re ready to release it, they open the cage door, there’s a pause, and then the lion shoots out of the cage.  That’s us, ready to shoot out of the cage.

But here we are, on pause once again.  Still, I have much to be thankful for.  We made it home Thursday night without hurting anyone or anything.  We have a beautiful home to live in; not everyone is so lucky.  I have a wonderful companion.  And this morning I went for my walk and didn’t collapse on the uphill stretch.  Life is good.