Broke in Half

Few things in life stick forever, but when they happen, the mind is clear and alert enough to paint a deep unswerving memory, forming great synapse canals, canyons in the head, canyons livable and unlivable. Other times, common occurrence reveals our pleasantries, perhaps just our redundancy. Even when art is in the redundancy, and the moments pass meaningfully slow, memory is still not so fierce.
Then the day comes, a nightmare, a fear, death, tragedy, it is a day that never leaves, one unexpected, unsorted, surreal day, when trauma takes you beyond mediocracy. There isn’t a choice, nothing matters, and all you know is to breath in and out, and whisper to yourself, “You have to get up.”
Watching the unyielding physical fight to beat death is unstoppable. It’s here in my lap. It’s in yours. For him, it was 70 mph, hydroplaning around a turn, three flips, and crushed upside down, ambulance, tow truck, rescue teams, police, then me. I got to him, finally. The car was cut open. He was strapped to a board. I touched his forehead, “It’s okay, Hon, you’re okay.”
He laid in the back of the ambulance, “There was a skunk in the road,” he said. His eyes tightened and a few tears ran down his temple. I touched his cheek. “Yes hon,” I touched his shoulder, “You saved that skunk.” I teased. “You did!” His eyes closed. His broken chuckle was more of an earthquake in my chest. I kissed him, I whispered I loved him.
I looked at the paramedic, “How are his vitals?”
“They’re good.”
After a week of surgery, four vertebrates were back in place, a nose was back in place, who cares about missing skin, gashes, cuts, bruising, but the nerve pain was severe. It is severe and only cured with time, if ever. This contrasts life. He is living.
Chronic pain fights to keep him down, in bed, struggling, angry, but he gets up. If you can’t stand the pain, stand on the pain. It will hold. There is no escape. It is a part of you. It is a part of me. Walk all over it, adapt, absorb it, work with it, surrender to it. It’s okay to have pain.
He has a new laugh now. I call it a pain laugh, sounding more like a Frankenstein’s monster than human, more like a soul wailing, but unable to cry, somehow though, still joyous! He chews rocks like tobacco leaf. He eats pain like candy. He takes a bullet to the heart and laughs at the sky. He works, lifts, carries, builds, strengthens others, and finally when he’s home is in my arms, he takes care of me. I douse him in oils, compress his nerves straight, rub his muscles from stone to flesh, and most importantly- let love heal, making all things new and whole again. It’s okay to be broke in half. It’s okay to suffer. It’s okay to live through it, and it’s okay to bear the scars. Somehow, that day, that day we both live everyday, has enriched our existence.

I graciously thank all medical science, medical teams, public servants, and God
for keeping the one I love most dear, here by my side.