He laughs. Davis has been back from the hospital and in Mammoth for just a week and found his chuckle, his joy. With his sweet soul safe once again I follow the pattern of nature and rest.
Propel one’s life force, one’s energy out as required by the intensity of the moment, and when the dust settles…rest.
For me to rest is also to nest. I tackle a corner of a chaotic cabinet or set up special meals for Davis that I freeze in a flattened form for easy stacking in his fridge. He has a team of care providers 24/7 and whatever I can do to make their time with him easier, I do. Besides, cooking heals my anxious mind.
While our world returns to a familiar baseline, my mind must be re-directed to slow down. Not to recall tubes inserted into his chest or the fear that he may not be able to live at altitude. There was a word, a command I used with his former service dog Lucy who passed years ago: Settle.
She would fret about a situation and look to me when she heard the command. She trusted and she settled. It is time for me to do the same.
Three hospital stays, two life flights and an anxious drive home with a portable oxygen tank. Feet that atrophied enough to make walking difficult, and a young man who needed to keep active in order to keep healthy. To rebuild. Can we? Rebuild?
A week later one of his care team, Lizeth, sends out the laughing video on our team text stream.
Yes. There is always a rainbow at the tail end of a Davis Crisis. I heed the command to Settle.
The Thirty-Third Child 