Booklove: Braiding Sweetgrass, byRobin Wall Kimmerer

Last Sunday, I sat next to my dad's bedside, holding a now pale, waxy hand. Out of nowhere he laughs. 'I remember the first time you heard a trumpet. Your eyes were as big as quarters.'

He hummed a riff of something to himself a moment, then drifted off to sleep. We had managed to get him to take a pain pill, which he has been resistant to doing because he doesn't want to turn into an addict. It's understandable, to a degree but it also wrongheaded and foolish. Pain is the body's way of communicating to the brain whwre we need help whilst we heal. But he comes from the school of 'Push through the pain,' though that comes at a cost.

Tonight I arrived at the hospital to find that he has been has been discharged. Apparently, he got silent but lippy with physical therapy and since he is THAT guy right now, they bounced him.  I'm not sure how, but the messages done't reach me, and I know it isn't intentional but I can't help narrow my eyes just a little. Is this really how we do each other? I mean, I have an important message to relay and I send it through at least 2 modes of communication. I look down at the scar on my left shin - 20 stitches worth and remember that it was not my uncles I called when it was clear I wouldn't be able to stitch the wound myself or drive. 

And that is okay. Family is...accidentally on purpose, at best. And I have friends who transcend blood. My friend L stepped in to help with the kids and it's only when she laughs and says 'oh, it's Cash's birthday too?' that I feel a terrible friend. I have a present for her on my desk in Colchester, neatly wrapped. I had planned ahead and then...she smiles. 'Yes, it's my birthday. But I already know you love and appreciate me.'

I take 10 minutes to catch up on emails. Turns out, the Power of Attorney my dad did in 2016 is missing a vital page: his signature.  I start to giggle. It's absurd, really. The whole situation is absurd. Laughable, cryable and just plain livable. There's nothing really unusual happening here, mind. It's just the speed an convergence. 

I think about the book I'm reading at the moment _Braiding Sweetgrass_ and the chapter 'Maple Sugar Moon,' and a lesson about the relationship between the maple and sugar work.  About the earth and inhabitants. And maybe about family and cooperation.  'Nanabhozho made certain that one half of the truth is that the earth endows us with great gifts, the other half is that the gift is not enough. The responsibility does not lie with the maples alone. The other half belongs to us; we participate in its transformation. It is our work, and our gratitude, that distills the sweetness.'

And then, in the next chapter, waiting. 'There is no hurt that can't be healed by love.'