The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places . ~ Ernest Hemingway
I call it my Hell Year — 1997.
But I cheat and count October before,
son J broke a hand bone five times,
had surgery and the next day
stood on the sidelines
coaching his J-V replacement
on the plays. January, I'm 50.
Not so bad, but I'd missed my life.
Spring, Daddy was hospitalized
seven weeks, two on a respirator,
at eighty...never was the same again.
Son J graduated at 16 graduated,
angry and adrift. D-Day my stress
severed my rotator cuff.
The doctor's catty comment
about my weight, that he knew
I'd not heal in the time he said.
October, a blood clot.
November, Son D's surgery
emergency. My Hell Year.
The best year of my life
because I figured out I was killing me
and stopped.
But I cheat and count October before,
son J broke a hand bone five times,
had surgery and the next day
stood on the sidelines
coaching his J-V replacement
on the plays. January, I'm 50.
Not so bad, but I'd missed my life.
Spring, Daddy was hospitalized
seven weeks, two on a respirator,
at eighty...never was the same again.
Son J graduated at 16 graduated,
angry and adrift. D-Day my stress
severed my rotator cuff.
The doctor's catty comment
about my weight, that he knew
I'd not heal in the time he said.
October, a blood clot.
November, Son D's surgery
emergency. My Hell Year.
The best year of my life
because I figured out I was killing me
and stopped.
- There's a real dearth of pictures from the Hell Year. Here Son Jeffrey has the injured hand on my shoulder.
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