The field made of sunflowers. Only in bloom for one week. We travel there to witness the beauty.
Remembering where I was on this day, sixteen years ago. Driving back to the office from an early morning IEP meeting for a client. I remember pulling off the side of the road to listen to the radio and to call my husband.
Purging the basement and making piles to donate, to throw away and to put back in boxes. Finding lost treasures.
Apologizing and saying thank you.
Stretching first thing in the morning. Trying to remember to take my vitamins.
The doctor who makes us wait an hour and a half to see him.
Visiting Spauling Rehab hospital. Using doors that only require a hand wave to open. Watching a friend use a gait trainer that is suspended from the ceiling on a track. Pondering access and accessibility. Still. Always.
Feeling lonely. Alone. Like an outsider still within the medically exceptional parents and people I know.
Wondering how my heart can be so sad and also so full.
Simmering on the question, "what will I do with what I've learned?"
New terms and labels to learn, research, understand. More appointments.
Saying no and asking for what I need in the setting of medical systems.
Feeling the effects of EMDR and being blown away by the changes.