Waiting

     Last week my sister Dorothy had surgery for a brain aneurysm. One week ago today my sister Ruth and brother Dick and his wife Kathy, Dorothy's husband Frank, her son Chris and daughter-in-law Sonia and I held a vigil at UPMC in Shadyside (Pittsburgh). A superbly skilled neurosurgeon opened her skull, lifted her brain, and clamped the artery on both sides of the aneurysm, rendering it harmless.
     The whole event was a study in serendipity. The aneurysm was discovered through a CT scan and MRI to diagnose a persistent, severe headache. Chris had trained as a nurse anesthetist at UPMC and had worked with Dr. Wecht, the neurosurgeon. The man administering the anesthesia was a classmate of Chris's in the nurse anesthetist program. So Dorothy was in the best possible hands.
     Waiting through the hours of surgery and the post-op period, watching for her gurney to roll by on the way from the recovery room to ICU, waiting till we could see her — through all that time we were very aware of being upheld by hundreds of people praying.
     I was also delighted to have extended time with my relatives. They are a bright, funny, energetic, interesting group of people, and we don't get to spend nearly enough time together. This was a bonus — time to share photos, catch up on the minutiae of our lives, share iPhone apps, and generally enjoy each other. There was the underlying tension of waiting for the end of the procedure, of course. But we were distracted by each other, so the waiting wasn't too onerous. I think we all had the feeling that things would be all right.
     And that was reinforced as she was wheeled past the waiting room on the way to ICU, when she said to Frank and Chris, "Somebody get that guy's license plate." Frank: "What license plate?" Dorothy: "The truck that ran over me." We knew she was back, and intact.
     Saturday she came home. Sunday I talked to her for twenty minutes. She is herself. Now it's a matter of slowly getting back into her routine, healing from the inside out. But there is time for that. Thanks be to God.
    

Healing and Other Mercies

     Last Thursday I filled in for another writer who is teaching a series of classes here at the GoggleWorks. An intimate group of eight, the writers are multi-faceted and talented. We did some writing exercises, not calisthenics but wordplay. What a treat! What fun to hear their words! We had an interesting discussion about the power of writing to put emotions on the page, to resolve angers and griefs, to bring about a feeling of wholeness.
     The church I grew up in has experienced a shock wave of sorts, revelations of misconduct by a diocesan official long gone, and the current bishop has issued a pastoral letter regarding the matter. He is clear about naming the issue and apologizing for it on behalf of the diocese. The letter has within it the seeds of healing and hope for all those affected and for all future members of the church. Writing has power. Naming the wrong has power. An abject apology begins to resolve the bewilderment, the powerlessness, the lostness, the anger and hurt and humiliation.
     The words have begun the healing. May it continue, with God's grace.

The Robin's Nest

  










The mother robin has become rather accustomed to being photographed and having her nest photographed. However, after the babies hatched, the father would perch on the deck next door and scold loudly until one went inside.

It's also tricky to keep the flowers watered in this heat, without getting the chicks wet. Wouldn't want them to catch cold!

Thanks to Judith Hodgkinson for the photos.

Nesting

     Two weeks ago, in a pot of pansies on the deck, I discovered that a robin had built her nest — and had laid three beautiful eggs! This precluded use of the deck for the coming month or so, and has provided a daily changing scene. The mother has been sitting faithfully, flying off to a nearby tree and scolding until I leave. Late last week two of the eggs hatched, and almost immediately one of the hatchlings was seen outside of the nest in the flowers. Can't imagine why. Perhaps there was some defect, or perhaps the larger hatchliing pushed it out. In any case, it died a day or so later. The third egg hatched and now there are two chicks in the nest. Whenever anyone comes near, they stretch their necks and open their beaks wide. You can see clear down their gullets, it seems! Father is now involved as well, and is helping feed them.
     At some point in the last day or two, the dead chick disappeared without a trace. I understand that robins are meticulous housekeepers, so they may have taken care of it somehow.
     I felt the urge to clear out some detritus yesterday too. It seems more peaceful, the less "stuff" there is around. We all make our nests, don't we?