If anyone should be grateful—it’s me.
If anyone should know better or have a change of heart, a deeper appreciation for ones’ spouse—it’s me.
Honestly, most days I do. I know how it could’ve turned out for us, should’ve turned out. And I truly am thankful for that guy…thankful to our Lord for giving him back to us for a time, however long that is.
Sometimes I wonder what he really thinks about still being here. With the kids. With me. Work and responsibility knocking at every corner like our kids knock on the walls, doors. He has to wonder what’d it be like to be in Heaven some days.
He works so hard for us. Working all day, only to come home and work some more. He plays with the kids, faithfully reads the Bible and tells them stories at night. He prays with all of us and while he’s not perfect, he’s our leader. We all look to him to guide and direct, even when it’s hard for him, his memory loose and unpredictable, his body slower and unbalanced.
He came to me a few days ago claiming it was time for us to have our septic emptied, he put it in himself when we built the house. He dug the hole, put the leech field in (are you impressed I know that term?) and covered it all back up. He even wrote the dimensions of where to find it again one day on the side of the house.
I smiled and nodded in agreement—we should get it emptied.
He claimed it would be no big deal. An easy find.
That is until he realized the numbers he’d so painstakingly wrote on the side of the house had become covered over with siding. He’d never find those numbers now.
I think I sighed and walked away, all 3 kids in tow.
He did locate some number—in his brain: 30×30, 40×30 or 50×40. I watched him meander around the yard with a tape measure, yanking, pulling and twisting at the annoyance those things can create.
With a nod of his head he drove a stake in the ground—much like someone who is stabbing in the dark for something, anything, and walked away for the tractor. It was going to be a long night.
The kids were enthralled as daddy worked the backhoe, we watched from the bathroom window. Deeper and deeper he went, my dad finally showing up to investigate, or more likely to make sure Graham didn’t break the tractor (Graham’s kind of a rookie with the backhoe).
The night ended with an incredibly deep hole, deeper than anyone in their right mind would put a septic and lots of ‘virgin’ soil.
Vir·gin (noun) Soil (noun)- soil/dirt/sand that has not been displaced or moved by machine, shovel or any human hand.
I learned a new term that night and while we laid in bed I asked:
“What are you going to do now?”
He reassured me we’d find it. We had to. Even if it meant digging up the entire lawn.
My thoughts drifted to our lawn, holes everywhere and me trying to keep the kids out of them. I thought too of the possibility of us not finding it. Or hitting the water line and causing more problems.
The water line would be a bummer seeing we get our water from a spring. No city water here, no well. Just pure spring water.
One summer when I was still living at home our water just up and dried up (or so we thought). I spent that summer bathing and shaving my legs in the river down below. We finally learned a pipe had burst and simply needed repair—the pond that began forming gave it away.
I reeled my thoughts in of bathing the kids in that water, screaming at the cold, scared of what lies under the murky mud.
Graham and my dad had to find that septic!!
The second night led to a kind of treasure hunt. A treasure hunt for poo—that’s what we told the kids anyway.
Just as dusk wrapped her cloak around our home, sinking hearts ready to fall at the thought of another night of digging without anything to show, my dad scraped right over top the lid.
They had found it! We were saved! The treasure hunt for poo had been solved and Graham and I were friends again:)
I love that guy! I AM thankful for him and I am very aware of how my life could/would look without him here with us.
So, here’s to you Graham, for keeping me on my toes, for forgetting numbers and dimensions and all sorts of things day in and day out. I love you even more with this brain injury because it keeps it real for me, a reminder everyday of all I got back!
Tried to do the ‘ol kid shot the other day…here we go!
Attempt #3…not bad!
My dear friend Karrie Sachleben was in town for a few days and we got to go for a ride (I mention her in my book…we’ve had many adventures on horseback…I may just end up writing another book about them all:)
Also, the in-laws Mimi and Papaw Stump and Uncle Tommy came for a visit…lots of great memories with them as well….I am amazed every time they come how the kids take to them!