I hesitate to share this, but I'm feeling that I need to be honest about something that just happened--and explain why this blog may change.
Last Sunday I went for a wintery walk along a favorite creek while my son sledded on a nearby hill. It was an afternoon of unusual beauty and calm-- and I find it impossible to believe that during that time everything changed. How could I not have sensed one of my brothers--stopped by the side of a snowy highway to work on his car--being hit by a passing truck? How could I have enjoyed the Minnesota sunset over a freezing lake as he laid on the cold Montana pavement?
After an ambulance trip to a local hospital, airlift to a regional hospital and then a medical evacuation to an out-of-state trauma ICU, he arrived two states away, in Seattle, as me, my sister Rachael and oldest brother Jack landed in Montana. We collected my mother and his daughter, but it took our family almost another whole day of driving and flying and driving to catch up with him. By that time he had started an unconscious journey of stabilizations, surgeries, tests, treatments, care. He was still beyond our reach.
His condition is his ultimately own story and as I heard his daughter say to someone on the phone, "he has so many things wrong with him, it makes me too tired to talk about it." So this is not the place where I will tell that story. But, of course, I am partly who I am because of who he is, and his story has often changed mine, and will continue to in a profound way. So this place too will change--I just don't know how.
I feel like it is excessively self-centered to keep writing about sewing, laundry and knitting at this time, but I also know that as I come out of the shock, it will be important to keep writing and making stuff. At the moment, I just don't know what it will be.
We have so many questions, and usually the answer is, "We don't know, we just have to wait." That's where I am right now. Waiting, hoping, praying.