It’s been a month. One month today since the accident.
When I got the call that my brother had been in an accident. I immediately left for the hospital. It was the simultaneously the slowest and quickest drive there has ever been. I arrived, and found my way to the ICU floor. I was met by 2 nurses, later they said they knew who I was by the look on my face. They sat me down and explained the situation. It was bad, labeled as critical and life flight was used. I excused myself and waited for other family members to arrive. Later on, while at the ICU door waiting to get buzzed in, someone came up next to me. They had a loved one that had been in the ICU for a few days. I was looking down at the floor and then I heard them say “The floor here reminds me of the yellow brick road. Ya know, from the ‘Wizard of Oz?'” That’s my favorite movie. From that moment on, I thought about the similarities between the movie and the situation that we were in.
I was the Scarecrow. Asking for a brain to figure everything out. Trying to learn the medical terms, which monitors meant what, blood pressures, oxygenation, medications.
I was the Lion. Asking for courage. Courage to be strong when others couldn’t be. Courage to help my brother with the unknown. Courage to believe that everything is going to be just fine.
I was not the Tin Man. My favorite quote from the movie is “hearts will never be practical until they can be made unbreakable” My heart has felt more this past month than perhaps my whole life combined. It has been broken, mended, but mostly filled will love and gratitude.
And then there’s my brother, J.J.. Unfortunately for him, he is a girl in this analogy. He’s Dorothy. Wanting desperately to find his way home. He’ll be there soon.
“You’ve always had the power my dear, you just had to learn it for yourself”
“Are you being sincere?” is a thought I often had when I would come upon a “Please pray for our _____” post on social media.
These “plea’s for prayers” (thats what I call them) are seeming to become ever more present. I can’t get more than one scroll down my news feed without seeing a request for prayers for a family member, dog, new job or for a stain to come out of a beloved sweater. The cynic in me rolls my eyes and keeps scrolling. Not reading as to why the prayers were requested. I, myself have never been in a situation that warranted asking the general public for their thoughts, vibes, prayers or whatever else. Until 28 days ago.
My little brother was in a terrible work accident. He is an arborist and got wrapped up in some line that pulled him into the mouth of a wood chipper. He has 2 broken femurs, severed arteries from his knee down which has led to the amputation below the knee of his right leg and has had over 107 units of blood and blood products. At this very moment he is in having his 14th surgery.
Since October 6th our family has been the recipient of what I estimate to be 1000’s of prayers, well wishes, good thoughts and vibes. Some of which were because of family members posting their very own “pleas for prayers” on social media. And as I read each and every one several times over, I not only believed it but felt it. I felt it in everything I did, wherever I was. I felt the sincerity in every letter, in every word, in every sentence.
A couple of weeks ago, a nurse came into my brother’s room with a stack of papers and asked if she could show us something. We said “of course”, and she sat down. She said “each one of the pieces of paper represent a blood product order that you received. I stopped counting at 107”. I asked her if she had ever seen that many, and she replied very quickly with a short “No”. We don’t know why or how he is still here with us, but we are very grateful that he is. And we believe that he is here because he is meant to do something powerful and great. And for that, I am very. truly. sincerely thankful for all of the prayers.
My name is Darci, and new to blogging. I’m 32 and live in the beautiful state of Maine. I asked my husband last week “if you could have any job in the world, what would it be?” and he didn’t know. He asked me the same question, and I said “a writer”. It was the first thing that came to me. I didn’t think about it, it just spilled out. As we drove along I thought about my response. What does it take to be a writer? Who decides if you’re a writer? Anyone who can spell words can write. Am I now a writer because I started a blog? Probably not, but I’m going to string some words together that hopefully make a sentence that turns into a paragraph that someone somewhere might like to read. Wish me luck!
Today is my first day blogging.
What to write about first?
Maine, moving, changing jobs, getting married, fertility issues, becoming a caregiver, family dynamics, finances. All seem to be hot topics at the forefront of my mind right now. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling claustrophobic? My brain feels cluttered and sorting through each one of the items listed above is overwhelming. As I type this and think about what to write it is becoming clearer that this is exactly what I need. An outlet, whether it be creative or more diary-esq. I’m feeling excited now, excited to work through these thoughts.