It’s been a rough week.
Grandma got sick. Really, really sick – like you don’t want me to tell.
And just as the light at the end of the tunnel was beaming into our weary eyes, Dad got hit. We’ve had an intense medical ward energy looming over our days. Chlorox, electrolye water, soiled rags. When the rags ran out we soiled the towels, when the towels ran out – we just soiled whatever was left.
Medicine calls it Norovirus. We called it a serious kick in the ass.
And in between the moments of little baby screams and there was a deafening silence. The jackhammer in my head was so loud it was quiet. Our minds drifted towards feeling healthy – sunny days on the beach and cool mountain breezes in enormous canyons. Every pain, ache, scream, vomit became purely animal. Function over fashion devoid of intellectualism. It was a priori life. It was beautiful in a sick way. It is slowly returning us to understanding the power of our family unit, its resiliency and how we are blessed to have a team to create progress out of pain and love out of discomfort.