Sylvia's Journal

The leaves fall-we all fall-/And still there is One who with infinite tenderness/Holds this falling in His hands (R.M Rilke)

Today is the day, so anticipated and so dreaded; it is finally here. A thick fog hangs over the cove and the yard, enveloping everything – just the kind of fog we were in at the end of the day a year ago; a day that started out so beautiful and full of promise but ended in calamity.

When I went to bed last night I brought my computer upstairs into the bedroom and placed it next to my bed. I wanted to re-create the early morning journaling experience that kept me in good spirits for many months last summer and fall. We are now pretty much normal; a normal that we so badly wanted to become last year: we can live on our own, even though we haven’t had to, walk up and down stairs, fly to distant and not so distant places, do laundry, mow the lawn, dig up potatoes, move furniture, and make love.

Yesterday we had the cookout with the BU students, like we had planned to have one year ago but which never happened. The 2007 summer session included a whole class I never really bonded with, as my teaching was to have started on the 16th of July. With some hesitation I had offered our place for a cookout again and it was accepted. Eight students and one faculty showed up, plus one student from last year. We did not talk at all about last year and enjoyed ourselves enormously.

The date of the 14th of July has been hovering on the edges of my consciousness for a long time, maybe back as early as when the doctors predicted that our recovery would take a year. Earlier, I had looked forward to this date with the idea that then I would be able to put everything behind me. Now I realize this may not happen, ever. Axel and I have been moving slowly to this date, along our different paths, as uneasy partners on a first encounter. With Sita off to London (Europe), Tessa has wondering whether she should be there with us or return to (her Canadian) London, as planned, over the weekend; should we be left unsupervised? We did not know what to tell her and so she stayed.

There is reason for celebration as our being here one year later, in fairly good shape, is a survival miracle. Much joy and happiness has come to pass since then. But there is also much that remains unfinished and that continues to be a source of pain, discomfort, dread, and disappointment.

Last night, before going to sleep we kissed each other on the places that were broken, cut or damaged: Axel’s long scar from his eyebrow, disappearing somewhere in the hair on the back of his head has healed beyond belief. I kissed his forehead that covers the frontal lobe, which is still rebuilding itself with help from Spaulding staff. I moved my lips to his left upper arm, tracing the length of his radial nerve down to his hand and fingers. They are not yet at full strength but he could squeeze my hand in a way we had not thought ever possible again. Next came the large muscle groups on his back, his hips and his lower vertebrae. They are all healed but there’s still much work to do to improve strength and flexibility.

My turn started with the scar on my right forehead that is mostly invisible but with skin that remains tender; then to my neck and upper shoulders: looking over each shoulder is still painful and the muscles and tendons are full of knots. He kissed the ribs on the right side, they are fine and were the first to heal last summer. he then put his lips on my right shoulder and arm, which had the color of a ripe plum for most of August; the shoulder pain lingered for months and was finally ended with a cortisone shot earlier this year. Next he kissed the long scar on my belly, which has healed nicely and only bothers me when I do certain yoga positions that stretch it. He kissed the small flap of skin, peeled from my right hand that was so expertly sewn back in place. Although it remains tender, its former state is hardly recognizable. Then it was the turn of my sacrum, moved out of alignment during the recovery, it is still not entirely OK but the physical therapist and I are working on it. And then, a final kiss on my right ankle and the bottom of right foot. The ankle is still swollen and not quite OK. The neuropathy at the bottom of my right foot is also persisting. The foot doctor will have a look again in two weeks.

The emotional and psychological scars were not quite kissable in the same way. We are still figuring out where/what they are. But Axel believes he has learned things about himself he did not know and is a better person as a result. I am more compassionate and more patient. And we both know, from a very deep place inside us, that the relationships we have with those who circled around us in the months that followed July 14, 2007, and still are, are the most precious of all our possessions.