Stumbling, But Still Kickin’

A few weeks ago, Paul wiped out on our front walkway.

We had just gotten home after spending 8+ hours in the hospital. I was holding Ingrid who was asleep in my arms, and I didn’t react fast enough to grab him before he fell. Which is weird because every time I replay this scene in my head, Paul is falling in excruciatingly slow motion.

He didn’t even slip on ice or uneven pavement or one of the three small steps that lead up to our house. He is just that weak. Weak to the point where he can hardly walk without assistance anymore.

He just fell backward, like a thin broomstick unable to hold itself upright without a prop. When I heard his head thwack the sidewalk, I winced and (gently) tossed a now-awake Ingrid onto the lawn to rush to his side.

Thankfully, there was a gentleman walking past our house at that exact moment. He secured his dog to a nearby lamppost and helped me hoist Paul to his feet.

Angels among us.

By now, the scrapes on his scalp have healed, but my nerves have yet to recover. I’ve taken to shadowing Paul around the house like a neurotic mother hen, clucking about handrails and muttering in an endless loop, “Be careful, be careful, please dear God be careful. Use your cane, don’t fall, here let me help you.”

“Liz, this is the bathroom.”

“And?”

“And...privacy?”

“Sheesh. Ok. Fine. BUT BE CAREFUL.”

via GIPHY

Last Thursday, we flew to Wisconsin to stay with Paul’s family for two weeks. It’s a good place for us to be right now—but it’s also a hard place to be because it’s terrible watching his family confront the reality that their sweet brother and son is slipping further away from them.

I’m pretty depleted emotionally these days, so you’ll forgive me for being somewhat unresponsive. Also, the laptop bit the dust so I’m typing this on an iPad, which is not ideal. 

Love to each and every one of you. 💜