“hey larissa,” he yelled from the living room.
“can you ask caleb to help you,” as i prepared for tomorrow’s dinner.
“caleb, i’m uncomfortable.”
“one second,” said Caleb.
“one second,” he said, clearly keeping track of time for caleb.
this repeated probably five times - ian yelling from the living room that he was uncomfortable or that he needed his wifey. and all that i could see in my mind was walking into the hospital room the first time he was taken out of bed and put in a seated position, back in 2006, back in the ICU.
he looked....awful. i remember that being the first time that my then-boyfriend truly looked completely disabled, vegetative. and what made it awful was that i remember it being the first time that i realized he truly might not ever be the same again. i remember being with mary, and they had him in a special chair, with a special helmet on, and he was different.
“bless the lord, oh my soul, and forget not all his benefits, who forgives all your iniquity, who heals all your diseases, who redeems your life from the pit, who crowns you with steadfast love and mercy” psalm 103
ian will know this in the fullest measure in heaven, but we have tasted a glimpse of healing here. and while i know in my heart that my hope is not that ian was shown mercy and has improved, and that at any moment either of us could become sick or disabled, we get to enjoy these moments for the gifts that they are.
“forget not all his benefits”