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By PENNY FLETCHER
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Most of us know too much about that dreaded call in the middle of the night. You know the one; the call that signals that a loved one, maybe a spouse or son or daughter, is hospitalized or dead.
I’ve had several calls like that. I buried two parents and a daughter; watched a healthy son fight a growing disability; and lived through every minute of the bone cancer that took my late husband’s life.
Recently my 44-year-old daughter was the victim of a violent crime in Jackson, Tenn., where she often spends her summers near her youngest daughter.
Many of you in South County know her. She’s been a tax accountant and auditor here for about 10 years, several with the local H&R Block, and several working for herself. Her name is Cindy-Lou Wood and she’s only 44.
Since she was injured May 7 she has had brain surgery twice in Jackson, Tenn.
That’s where I’ve been, and why I’ve had no bylines.
There’s no prognosis yet, because with brain injuries, that takes a long time. Many of you know that already. I’ve written enough stories about memory loss; brain injuries and families who have lost everything because of one single act or illness that I know you’ll understand what I’m about to say.
For me, these kinds of experiences all have a single characteristic worth noting: everything is reduced to the basics. You breathe. You move. You listen. Life goes into slow motion. A fog surrounds you for awhile, but after the time when you don’t feel anything, each movement becomes strikingly clear.
As you sit by a bedside watching white-clad hospital personnel insert tubes and IVs and take enough blood to feed Dracula’s whole family, you think. You see. You pray. Nothing goes unnoticed.
The coffee the nurse brought me was especially welcome. It was in a white mug that felt heavy and hot in my hands. The smell was wonderful; unusual. Nothing like the smell that comes from my two-cup Mr. Coffee at home.
The blanket an aide supplied for me so I could lie on the couch in my daughter’s room after she was moved from Neuro-ICU felt soft and comforting against my skin. I ran my fingers over it, smoothing out every wrinkle and then crumpling it up again.
During my occasional walks down the hall to the brightly-colored waiting room I noticed the themes on each of the framed photographs on the walls. There were gardens; flowers; flowing fountains; all depicting a world filled with beauty and life.
The basics become all-important. Life. Breath. Bodily functions.
Can she eat? Talk? Use the bathroom?
When these simple things occur, they are cause for celebration. They are the life-giving signs that become the thread uniting everyone who plays a part.
I consider myself very, very fortunate to have had experiences that keep me close to the basics. Life is to be lived day by day for there is no promise of tomorrow.
I see the beauty of the grass and feel the wet dew between my toes when I walk outside in the morning. The clouds all make patterns. Looking at the sun through a palm frond is a breath-taking sight and music is like magic, no matter what kind you prefer.
When my husband was alive, we lived at the mouth of the Little Manatee River in Ruskin. For years, we stopped everything at dusk and drank coffee on our dock. The reason? We had learned that the sun set in a different spot and in a different color every month of the year. Two of my sons can attest to the fact that whenever we could, we were home and out on that dock to see it.
I am always amazed when people ask, “How did you live through this or that?”
What choice have we? We simply live.
I choose to believe what the Bible (New International Study Version) says in Romans, Chapter 8, Verse 28: “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him…”
The quote says “all things.” Not just the good things — like promotions or new electronic toys or vacations or happy family gatherings, but “all things.”
Christians and Jews who have faith in God (and a Fox news poll taken in 2008 says 92 percent of Americans claim they do) can still find beauty in the world despite all its wrongs and injustices and hurts and failings.
I have to keep looking for it, because I know it’s here.
Sometimes, it’s just the feeling of wind in our hair or sand beneath our feet. Or, as I recently realized, it can be as simple as picking up a coffee cup and breathing in the aroma that precedes the taste while sitting under a warm, soft blanket kindly offered by someone I’ve never even met.
*Perhaps you have something you’d like to share. Or maybe you’d rather tell the community about your favorite charity or cause: or sound off about something you think needs change. That’s what “Over Coffee” is about. It really doesn’t matter whether we actually drink any coffee or not (although I probably will). It’s what you have to say that’s important. E-mail me any time at
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and suggest a meeting place. No matter what’s going on, I’m usually available to share just one more cup.
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