Putting Things in Perspective
This photo depicts me the other day.
Grumpy cat on steroids.
Well, for a number of reasons, but primarily because, for hours on end, a crew of landscapers were driving their bobcats up and down our lawn, smashing the roots of our trees, snapping branches off of our bushes and filling up our entire house with diesel fumes just so they could accomplish some sort of deforestation project in the common area behind our yard.
This, I might add, was all done without even asking our permission to use our side yard as their logger’s highway.
After suffering through five hours of destruction, stink, and mayhem, I donned my boots, jacket, and bad attitude and marched outside to give those tree-lugging trespassers a piece of my mind.
Instead, I slipped on the icy snow, and fell down the hill crash landing first on my rear end and then on my head as my neck whipped back and cracked my skull on a hillside iceberg, all this with a gaggle of amused lumberjacks watching the show.
Yes, I know the fact that I would fall is shocking. (Gracefulness 101. . .)
Needless to say, however, my disposition was not improved by my whole Chevy Chase pratfall routine.
So, I dragged my injured carcass inside and called my husband, Jame, as I downed some Advil and shifted an icepack alternately from my goose egg head bump to my broken butt. I ranted and raved like there was no tomorrow about the supreme injustice of it all.
And after I stopped caterwauling, there was silence on the other end of the phone, until, finally, he spoke.
His friend, Warren, on Long Island, had just called.
Warren’s son, Kevin, had died overnight.
Kevin was born in Korea. Warren and his wife, Karen, had taken Kevin in as a guest in their home when he was a young child in need of heart surgery as they’ve done for so many children in need. (You can read about their selfless gifts of life by clicking on this link.) After Kevin’s surgery, Warren and Karen agreed to keep him on and raise him as their own since, as a developmentally handicapped child, his prospects of a quality life back in his home country were not too promising.
Kevin’s heart condition manifested itself, in part, in the creation of blood clots, eventually requiring surgery to be removed. So, a few days ago, at age 27, Kevin went back in for heart surgery and tragically passed away during recovery.
Warren’s, Karen’s and all of Kevin’s sibling’s hearts are shattered. No one should ever have to bury a child.
We grieve for them all.
Jame and another friend are returning tonight from Kevin’s wake in New York. He was so glad to be able to be at Warren’s side during this time to hopefully help ease his heartbreak, at least temporarily: at least somewhat.
And here I sit on a bruised tush coupled with a bruised ego, and wonder about life and death and love and pain and everything in-between.
Sometimes we need a wake up call to put it all in perspective.
Somehow tire tracks in our yard don’t seem that important anymore.
I think I’ll go hold my favorite 12-year-old’s hand while giving heartfelt thanks for the abundance of good in our lives.