The Gift of Time

On August 10th, I was on a camping trip in the mountains of North Carolina. On the last night of our vacation, I tripped over a lip in the tent we use to cover our picnic table. Immediately, I knew that something was wrong. The next day an ex-ray revealed the damage. I was told that I would need surgery. But the worse was that I would be unable to bear any weight for six to eight weeks.

I had retired in my mid-fifties from a career in special education and still felt good. I hardly ever sat down during the day and just the thought of being housebound for weeks on end frightened me more than the actual damage to my foot.

It has been four weeks and with surgery behind me, I’m looking ahead to the days of recovery and what it entails. But for now, I am still bound to my house and unable to go beyond the floor I occupy. Thankfully, I have a wonderful husband who has been willing to meet my every need. My grown daughter left yesterday after being here through some rough days and Vern and Bee, my French Bulldogs have been very attentive.

But as I reflect back over the last month, my fondest memories will be of the visitors that have walked through the door and plopped down on a chair or my sofa. People that have pushed through the awkward feelings of how to deal with someone who is damaged or sick. People who have interrupted their own lives and given me the gift of their time.

If I have learned anything from this journey, it’s to make sure I don’t forget the people in my life that might need the gift of time. Since I can’t leave my house, I’ve tried to call, text, and email friends and family who come to mind. But once I’m able to get back on my feet, I hope that I’ll remember how I felt when a friend’s smiling face came bopping into my house.

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