Forgotten

At least Tracy had toys in the nursery when Mom left my youngest sister at church that time when we were little.

Today my husband forgot we were carpooling and left me at work.  Soon after 5 when I went looking for him it didn’t take me long to realize he simply forgot me.  The only other co-workers who live even remotely close to us whom I could ask for a ride home were either gone or had dinner plans close to the office.  Sighing, I called my husband’s cell phone.

When he answered I asked where he was.  “Uhm, I’m coming back from getting my tire checked,” he said.  “Are you close to the office?” I asked.  He hesitated.  “I’ll call you when I’m close,” he replied and hung up as I was asking where exactly he was.  I knew immediately he had forgotten me and wasn’t about to admit it.

Replacing the handset I sat at my desk for a few moments as I considered my options.  We had been in all day meetings and corporate dinners for two days and I had plenty of work to do.  But I didn’t want to start on any of it if he was just a few minutes away.  If he wasn’t I was only going to get more frustrated by the minute not knowing how long I would have to wait.

Lemonade out of lemons, I decided, foraging in my wardrobe for a pair of walking shoes.  Yes!  Rummaging in my bag for a hair clip I scored again.  Heels off, hair up, I grabbed my purse and set out to put my wait to good use by taking my walk.  Outside the weather was nice and as I moved along the parking lot I began to feel pretty good about how I was handling this little change in plans. 

I had logged 25 minutes when my phone rang.  “I’m here,” he said.  “I’m walking, be right there,” I said, pressing the End button as he began to ask where I was.  I had waited half an hour, he could sit for the additional two minutes it would take me to get back to the office.

As I got into his truck I mentally prepared my gracious acceptance of his apology.  I was sure he felt bad enough about leaving me and keeping me waiting, there was no reason to be unkind.  I climbed into the passenger seat and waited.

“At least you got your walk in,” he said.  Then we drove off.  

No apology.  No “gee, I’m sorry about all this.”  No need for my acceptance speech.  I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised.  He is a great guy, but the words “I’m sorry” don’t come easily to him.  As we made our way through traffic he tried to start up work conversation a few times, but I just couldn’t get interested in talking to him.  Finally he turned on the radio.  As always when I need a way to process my emotions,  a blog was quickly coming to me and I started tapping on the screen of my smart phone.

By the time we pulled into our driveway I was almost finished writing.  He got out of the truck wordlessly, pulled the trash cans into the garage, and entered the house.  All the clichés came to mind – “All’s well that ends well”, “It’s no big deal”, “a hundred years from now you won’t even remember it”.   And at least I didn’t have to bring in the trash cans, only the mail and our meeting luggage from the truck.  I recalled my devotional from just this morning.  Galatians, 5, Fruit of the Spirit.  Just another opportunity to practice love, joy, peace, patience, and longsuffering.

Yes, there was a little fruit of the spirit in me, but mainly I was glad to have my blog.  It served me well 4 years ago when it was born out of the Duke Disaster, and it serves me well now,  funneling my feelings and saving me ammunition.

Terminal Humor

I drove my husband to the hospital this morning.  He found out he needed an Endobronchoscopy only last week.  A midst waiting for the lab results of a mole that was removed last week and having to schedule a treadmill stress test, going in for this EBUS biopsy of a way-too-big node in the middle of his lungs has produced stress.  Even for my husband, who is known for giving stress, not getting it. 

I knew he was getting antsy when he announced last week that he was taking two days off work for a road trip to the Ranch.  To him, the Rockin R is like Tara is to Scarlett O’Hara – he’s got to put his boots on that land fairly regularly.  The trip did him good, and when he returned home he had only one more day to wait and wonder before the EBUS.

We were both feeling pretty good about things as we got into the car to drive to the medical center.  All of our kids, siblings, Mom, church family, friends and co-workers are covering us in prayer and we know that all of these health things are in the Lord’s hands, so no reason to worry.  Nevertheless it’s disconcerting to have to go through the tests.  As I pulled out onto the main street heading for the expressway I decided to turn the radio on.  I have a couple of fave “radio preachers” and I thought Paul could use the strength and encouragement that I experience regularly from their biblical preaching.

I turned up the volume and heard “…you are sick and it’s terminal, you must come to grips with it.”  Immediately I yanked the knob down to mute and looked over at Paul.  “Well,” he said, “that’s it then.  It’s terminal.  Now we know.  I guess there’s no reason to even have the procedure, just turn around, let’s go home.”  I started laughing.  I couldn’t help it.  My desire to encourage him in his moment of anxiety had done exactly the opposite.  It felt like the words coming out of those speakers had been directed at him.  Unfortunately NOT the words I was expecting or wanted him to hear.  Maybe it was my own anxiety, but I couldn’t stop laughing.

“Thanks honey, it’s so nice to know you won’t miss me when I’m gone.  Sure am glad I’ve done all this financial planning, you’re going to be fine.”   He kept the morose, Eyeore look on his face but I knew he was having fun at my expense.

“You have that phone conference with the financial guy on Wednesday, think you can hang on until then?” I asked, laughing.  He shook his head.  “I don’t know, now that it’s terminal I could go any day.”

That little banter lightened the moment, but after a few minutes of silence the weight of possible bad results was back in the air.  I reached to turn up the volume on the radio.  Surely by now the uplifting part of the sermon would be on.  “I recall the funerals of my parents,” the preacher was saying.  “Their lifeless bodies a reminder that they were no longer.  A reminder that we are all sinners and one day each of us will die.”

Once again I quickly muted the volume.  Paul looked over at me.  “Would you mind not turning that on any more?” he asked.  Once again I burst out laughing, not able to hold back.  “I’m glad you think this is so funny.  Are you even planning to attend my funeral?”  Paul’s teasing was relentless, and every funny one-liner that left his lips just made me laugh harder.

By the time we got to the hospital the tears were rolling down my cheeks.  The irony of the whole situation had gotten to me.  Locking the car, I picked up my day bag and turned to Paul.  He stretched and looked out past the concrete to the cloudy sky.  “Yep, special close-in parking for the terminal patients.”  “Stop it,” I said, I’ve got to be able to focus once we get inside.”  We smiled, and together entered the building.  Like Mom always says, if you have a sense of humor you can get through anything.