Relax. God's In Charge

(sketch by Clarence Boylan. 1925)

When we lost dad in 2013, I had no idea that I'd be moving from Texas to start a new life in Virginia. I wasn't particularly happy in Texas but I had a good job that I really loved and there was the "comfort zone" of course. Eventually, I started to think about mom and how her life would play out if she remained in the house--their house--and the town that was increasingly becoming unfamiliar to her--not due to any mental deficiency mind you, but because the town was changing and she was losing many of her friends. So I made the decision to move and put a huge amount of faith in God for what was to be my future. 

Fast forward to 2016. I am now living with mom and we share our modest apartment with my husband of a little over a year. Too bad dad never met my husband, Edu. Fortunately, he and mom have become best of friends. If I plopped back into the last months of 2012 at this moment through some time machine magic, I'd probably see someone who was more certain of his faith than he is now. I'm not sure why that is but one big reason could be that I became a little more cynical and a little less certain that decisions based on faith are always best. There's a small card in one of my many meditation/prayer books that says "Relax. God's in charge." It's becoming clear to me that although He is in charge, that doesn't mean we will always like how things turn out. I made a decision to have surgery in March and the prevailing attitude I had was it's not in my hands--it's in God's hands. Death came very close to me as the result of that decision. Was it a good decision? Probably…given the uncertainty of any real healing of the severe condition caused by my diverticulitis. Although I was aware of the possibility of complications I didn't count on any of that happening. 

Dad lost his father Clarence in 1933--a victim of infantile paralysis, also known as polio. He was only eight years old at the time. Memories of his father were rare and precious and little physical remnants remain of his brief time on this earth. One find, however, has intrigued me and I keep coming back to it as I try to imagine a future for myself. Shortly after dad was born, Clarence made a little sketch on a notepad and wrote "Our son Bill~25 yrs. from now." The sketch--with the exception of the mustache--looked a lot like my dad at 25--judging by photos I frequently scan. I guess Clarence expected his son to live a full and good life. Dad did just that. He did so many things without a father. He was a good man. I'm sure that when dad was my age he had a lot of the same questions I ask myself now. I'm not sure but I think he acted on faith in many instances. When dad was 25, he nearly died in a terrible car accident. My brush with death came at a much later time in my life. Has it made me a better person? I'm not so sure of that. I'm still putting all the pieces together and hoping that I can get back to that place where I felt a little more certain about putting it all in God's hands.

Alive And....Well...

The big wake-up call happened in my 51st year on the last day of March. I went into the hospital for what was billed as laparoscopic intestinal resection. In other words, the doctor was going to remove a portion of my colon (which had perforated) and I'd be free of the pain that had been plaguing me for several months. The surgery seemed to have been successful. A few incisions in my abdominal area and a good dose of morphine for a few days post-surgery and I'd be headed back to work in no time.

That changed on the 6th of April when I lost consciousness and was diagnosed with sepsis and renal failure. I had a major infection. I was rushed in for emergency surgery and was cut from stem to sternum. I wasn't aware of it at the time but my rib cage was opened like an actual cage as they flushed my body with whatever was needed to heal me. When I woke from this procedure, the pain was unbearable and I began a very long road to recovery. But I was lucky to be alive. During the course of my hospital stay, I learned that actress Patty Duke had died of the very thing that happened to me. In other words, I could have died. But I didn't. I'm still recovering and I've got many scars to prove it. I'm thankful for another shot at life. Writing is going to help me to heal.

I'm sure of it.

(Actress Patty Duke: December 14, 1946 – March 29, 2016}