One stitch at a time

I caught my reflection in my mother’s mirror, which showcased her newest of many quilts and that classic photo of her parents on the porch next to the roses at the house in New Jersey, as I was deep in thought about how she has stitched together a life. She has survived three cancers, numerous additional surgeries and diseases, and an almost-deadly crash caused by a motor vehicle driver who ran a red light and changed the course of her life. She has done so with grace, strength, and dignity, and I know whatever is next for her as she embraces the challenges she is currently facing will continue that thread.

I help at the hospital. I’m getting better at it —  the attaching and detaching of tubes, the waiting and then the taking of notes when the doctors come, the seamless handling of the endless ebb and flow of needs.

I stay at her home a lot, just a few minutes from the hospital, not far from a greenway where I ride my bike daily.  I check the mail and water the plants and air the place out. She has new next door neighbors who have only met me, not her. The dog a few doors down wags his tail when he sees me. The kids who walk home from the school down the street wave hello. It is oddly comforting.

My mom asked me yesterday if I had any bike tours this week. I said no, and she was concerned that I was canceling things for her. I told her that God wanted her to be here and God wanted me to be here, and that Robyn of Bicycle Tours of Atlanta has been astounding in her support. It is what it is, and it is all somehow a gift.

I may tap out for a few days here. Don’t worry about us. We are taking it one stitch at a time. We are trusting the journey.

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