Loosened from the mud, I find myself floating in a world of possibility.

So can you.

fragmented superhero

If I told you that Monday night I found my husband in a diabetic coma, would you understand the images that remain with me? Would you believe that the experience itself is much less than the remaining sensations? Would you understand how that instant of seeing him sitting upright with unresponsive open eyes and locked limbs fragmented my very being?

Can I tell you that I spent the next couple of days in bed? Did my tears seem unheroic in the face of a life-threatening situation? Do you know that I deal with the possibility of coma everyday of my life? Would you understand that I am not seeking sympathy?

Would you just listen to what I have to say without thinking ahead to find solutions? Do you know that my needs right now are simply about just wanting someone to look me in the eye and hear my words?

Most of Tuesday and Wednesday were spent in bed, recuperating, shoring up my strength and well-being, putting back together the fragments of my soul. I finally got out to meet some female friends for a lunch and a linger by the train tracks where taking in the whole train was beyond my comprehension. I could only grasp onto the fragments of blue sky peeking between the train cars. Then in the midst of my despair came the bat signal.

The Universe always provides the necessary lessons and resources. This I have to believe.



  1. Oh no, I hope things are better. So scary

    1. Things were much better a mere two hours later. And yes, it was scary but it could always be worse. I dealt with it on my own so I didn't have to call in an ambulance. Thanks for listening Kat!

    2. So glad he's feeling better. Love to you both.

    3. He is better and with no memory of it, he's bouncing back much sooner than I am. Thanks for the love and right back at you, my friend.


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