I've been reading a lot about myself this week, this last week of sitting and reflecting, this last week when appliances will define my abilities, this very odd week.
I'm much faster and defter in maneuvering my wheelchair. I laughed as AnnaFarkle shook her head, marveling at my quick turns. GrandFarkle#3 and I exchanged sly grins as I gaily replied "It's really kind of fun!" ... because it is what it is so I smile and move on.
I like this new me, this able to smile instead of growl me.
I guess it wasn't enough to have one pseudonym. Now I need a name for who I was before January 8th. Suzi is who you all know since TBG told the media that was my name. I'm glad he did; Susan is much too formal. After all, we've been sharing stories about infirmities and blood loss and death and healing. I think you qualify as friends after all this time.
But who was I before this?
In amongst the search results I came across a blogger who took issue with a conversation I had with Christina-Taylor's older brother about 2 weeks after I was shot. Texas was excited to hear that our 27 year old son would be visiting Tucson that weekend. He was looking forward to a replay of last summer's fun-filled afternoon spent with Big Cuter and Christina-Taylor and every Super Soaker known to mankind. The three kids spent 2 hours sending streams of water at one another as they raced over around under and through our pool. It was joy uncontained. If you are only as happy as your unhappiest child, that afternoon we four (dry) parents were ecstatic. Completely filled with smiles.
Big Cuter assumed the role of "large older friend" that afternoon. He'd been C-T and Texas just a blink of an eye ago and yet there he was, being pelted by adoring little friends.... and loving it.... just as his big cousin had done at Muir Beach two decades ago.
The blogger in question took issue with my reference to water gun fights so soon after a gun had wreaked such havoc on us. I can see his point, but he's missing mine. Perhaps, without context, his oops is warranted. But there is nothing but love and wonder in my heart when I remember that afternoon. Two against three, the Crayola Kids against the world (aka my son), strategies and plans having been laid days in advance --- they weren't trying to hurt one another..... they were having fun.
Sometimes I think we let our rhetoric get us in more trouble than it's worth. He's right... but he's oh so very very wrong.
I am having a hard time convincing myself that my hip actually knows whether I stand on it now or in 16 hours. But I hear you all screaming Don't be an idiot so I wait, patiently, kinda sorta calmly, for tomorrow at 11am. That will be today, as you read this. Come back, same time, same space, same station on Tuesday to hear the results.
There may even be pictures.