HOPE and a BELLYBUTTON

Franklin has traveled to Denver.  He too has taken the first steps in the "our new life" journey.

Spinal cord doctors, wheelchairs and catheters, oh my.

It is so crazy.  On December 31, 2016, we went to bed.  We even missed the Mariah mess up.

We wake up to a new year and by noon, we have a new life.

So Franklin started the process.  The visit with the "button" was not a Hallmark movie.  It was more like a natural disaster movie.  PTSD meets concerned parent.  PTSD is heinous. PTSD is bigger than a 23 year old male. 

There is such a difference between men and women and certainly Franklin and me.  Franklin needed to meet the detective, ask questions. It was CRIMESTOPPERS that caught the shooter.  Who knew?   CRIMESTOPPERS works. He went to the scene and was stunned at the lovely area of Denver where this all took place.
He had to put the pieces together.   

Three consecutive days my husband said, "there is an eggbeater in my brain."

He was relentless.  He got in front of the people he needed to and when they didn't want to talk, he still got answers.  He whipped out medical records and got answers.  And he got smacked in the face with reality.  I would rather take a punch in the gut from Mike Tyson than be smacked by reality.

Today Franklin got hit with, "your son will never walk again and is going to need a nurse, can live independently if he chooses and works hard, but he is going to need a nurse." 

I wish I could have been there with him when his air left his body.  Even though he knew this, it is so piercing when someone tells this to you.  I know what that feeling is like and as the air leaves your body you just have to act like you have to sneeze and go on. 

I am a "doer, getter done-r and let's get going" type of person.  Franklin stands back and watches and waits.  That drives me nuts.  Limbo is not my thing.  He smokes and lets it work out. 

Currently, we are in limbo.  Wait for healing to begin.  Wait for the process to start.  Wait for the anger to subside.  Wait.  Just wait.

I hate waiting.  Franklin is patient.  We are united but we are so different.  I throw things in a bag and leave.  He takes hours to pack a bag.  Drives me nuts.  We are so different.

Today, after his busy, gut wrenching day, he delivered his findings to me.  It was the first time in weeks I felt HOPE, real HOPE.  Franklin cannot let go of the mobility issue and I have accepted this and just want to start the process of getting things all organized.  Crazy.

Tonight, while power walking, I was thinking about how different my husband and I are and how we handle things.  I quickly came back to a conversation that I had with my Mamaw in 1984 or so.

I was working as a waitress at a restaurant...(this much is true) and I was befriended by an older woman there.  She discovered that my mamaw hand painted China and wanted a few pieces from her.  In the midst of process, my friend discovered she had lung cancer.

One day, I sat on my Mamaw's front porch and I asked her, "do you think Mandy is going to die?"

"Hell I don't know."  My mamaw just let it out. So comforting. 

"If you put 100 people in a room, doesn't matter how old they are or where they come from or what nationality they are or how they live, all 100 people have the same two things in common.  Know what they are?"

"I have no idea, what?"

"Hope and bellybuttons."  This was the most profound statement she ever made to me.  "Hope and bellybuttons."

So here we are, time zones apart.  I am sure my husband is propped up in bed watching porn, I mean "Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives" as I call it a day.

I will sleep in silence, he will have to have the television on. 

And as different as we are, it is true...we both have Hope and we both have bellybuttons.