All things break. And all things can be mended. Not with time, as they say, but with intention. So, go. Love intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally. The broken world waits in darkness for the light that is you.
Now and then, the calamities of life’s circumstances are so devastating it takes your entire being to maneuver the simple step of feet and wish of thought. A lesson beyond common intellect empowers you as reality grapples with your roots, quaking the sanity teetering with thunder.
It was one of those times as my world shuddered to a complete halt. The sun ceased moving, the wind blowing, and nothing would ever be the same.
Blood splatters as my head bangs against the pavement. My world starts spinning as people gather, begging consciousness. I hear but can no longer comprehend as I lose consciousness, my body twitching, blood exploding, splattering like raindrops on the pavement below.
The ambulance arrives and rushes me to the hospital. Within a matter of minutes, a Neurologist and a highly specialized medical team are performing a craniotomy to control the bleeding inside my brain and repair damaged tissue.
The following day, my daughter Melinda, my son-in-law and granddaughters are standing over me when a doctor comes into the room and orders me out of bed. “Uh …,” Melinda reacts, “… that is so cold. For god sakes, look at her.”
My Doctor explains, “Your Mother suffers from a brain concussion, with frontal lobe damage. The quicker we get her out of this bed, the faster she will recuperate.”
“What is the frontal lobe?” Melinda asked with a worried look on her face.
“The frontal lobe is our emotional control center and home to our personality…,” he pauses, sensing overload then continues explaining, “… motor function, language problem solving, spontaneity, memory, initiation, judgment, impulse control, and social behavior.”
I lay incoherent for three days with neither peace nor sleep finding its way to Melinda’s pillow. Fear and worry could not empty her mind long enough to allow her the privilege. The fourth day, a nurse helps me out of bed. I could walk to the end of the bed and back without fainting. My world still spinning. I stare cluelessly at Melinda while she sits in a chair reading. The fifth day is the same as the day prior. On the sixth day, my legs, arms, hands, and fingers bare frailty as I stumble the halls aided by nurses, dragging my legs behind.
Days pass like ghosts and disappear like clouds, and soon nothing was left of me but sorrowful longings kicking me in the teeth.
Six months later, I stand in the shower. Clueless. Watching water trickle off my head, lowered in bewilderment. Something peculiar materializes, causing me to jump back in fright. I turn. It wings in front of me as another joins, causing me to scream. As I explore this peculiarity, something looking like a branch mounds where edges smooth, twist and rotate; the branches extend and reach upward to explore a large ovoid. I glance rearward. It follows. Exploring.
I jump out of the shower and staring in floating glass; this strange entity touches the large ovoid. Dual specks focus and move, transmitting vision, understandable to my brain. Interacting with perceptive depth, these dual specks encompass a three-dimensional examination of a misplaced formation.
Under trickling of water, I discovered a living being named Donna and a face - staring back, questioning with lifted brows and softened lips. Startled eyes, leaking with drizzles. Elongated arms, snaking and searching. Robotic fingers, touching and discovering. Rounded shoulders, straightening and relaxing. Breath, slowly moving in and out. A heart beating … rapidly. Excitement, bubbling.
Tears stream as I cup my hands around my curved jawline and melt around lips stuttering a name as if hearing it for the first time: Donna … Donna LeClair. I scream my name repeatedly, giggling; knowing I am alive and somewhere inside this visible being rest the innumerable possibilities created by beholding.
Long-limbed sticks called legs have a mind of their own and move with unrooted abnormal behavior. When I get up in the morning, they run into walls. My hands glide across a counter, directing the movement as they drag behind. They are slow, awkward, more like a device somebody else is operating than the things that will lead me out the front door and into the life I am discovering.
I have difficulty placing concrete words or pictures into discrete categories and trouble understanding context. I find out I was an author but have no idea what that means and how to write. Stringy things extending from my hands create phenomenal characters, exciting me.
Night and day, I memorize the Alphabet Song backward and forward; concentrating on each and very letters until I could sing it waking and sleeping.
Banging on the keys of a computer, I ask, “What is this… what is this?” Giggling, I watch the squiggly things on the screen magically construct my name–Donna LeClair. The probabilities excite me. The idea letters on the keys of a computer can create unlimited possibilities with the flick of a wrist, touch of a finger. The thought they can breathe life into that which once laid dormant.
As I began to know and love myself, life was frustrating during growing spells and unmeasurable in increments justified by reasoning or perception. Time traveled with its keeper patience, and memory with its brat forgetfulness, but love resonated unwavering to its greatness, gifting Melinda and myself second chances after shattered peculiarities guided inward to healing fields where forthcoming lessons sanctioned.
Today, I live in peace and harmony, and I call it “GRATITUDE.”