Thursday, 12 July 2007 - Time's healing hand

Dear God:

Today, I am thankful for time's healing hand.

Old Time, that greatest and longest established spinner of all!.... his factory is a secret place, his work is noiseless, and his hands are mutes. ~Charles Dickens

As he slowly recovers from a severe head injury, I wonder if Tom is aware of time.

The seconds tick by in their measured pace, quickly adding up to minutes and hours, gradually building a calendar of days and weeks. In a few days, the doctor will note one month in Tom's medical record.

Tom's mind, the doctors say, now hovers just below consciousness. No longer in a deep coma but not quite awake either. A very good sign. Progress. But, I'm thinking: Twilight Zone? Oz? Never, Neverland? Wonderland? Hundred Acre Wood?

I am still impatient, disappointed that it is taking so long. Too many questions, too few answers. That is my heart speaking. My mind reminds me that an injured brain takes time, lots of time to heal. Funny how logic doesn't make much sense right now.

I wonder if Tom will remember all of this, any of this, none of this.

This morning, for one full hour, I read aloud poems from a favorite anthology. Tom is restless, his left hand paws at the book cover. Perhaps he doesn't like poetry as much as I.

I turn the page and find Robert Frost's "Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening." I love this poem. I'm sure Tom knows it well. Like the rest of us, he probably memorized it in high school.

I recite the first twelve lines slowly and precisely. Then, I arrive at the prophetic last stanza. I pause briefly, just long enough for my heart and emotions to adjust their posture. I suddenly need a boost of courage to continue. My usually strong and even voice cracks and my eyes tear as I read:

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

For this blessing, I am grateful.

Amen.