My Toe
Mystery solved.
When I was giving myself a little pedi a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that the middle toe on my left foot has a purple toenail. Hmmm, I thought, that's Rather Strange. No memory of dropping a rock on it. You'd think a person would remember something like that. I looked at it closely and came to the conclusion that it was getting better, not worse, and as far as I could see the nail was not going to come off. End of chapter, still no clue WHY this toe was purple.
Ho ho, today I figured it out. I woke up (and you know what that means: first thing, the wrecking ball realization that your child is dead, *sob*) and took the dogs downstairs to feed them. Coming back to the stairs from the kitchen, I reach out with my foot to slide the little oriental rug back where it's supposed to be. On the corner of the rug there is a ROCK. It's perfectly round and about the size of a cantaloupe, granite with a fat white stripe around it. (I collect rocks; they're all over the house, LOL. I mean ALL OVER the house!)
And it comes back to me: on January 5th, at 6 am, I stubbed -- as in BROKE -- that toe on that rock. Andy had moved it the night before. The previous few months, it had been on the outside corner of the rug, holding down a curled-up corner. Andy's brilliant idea, which worked. But for some reason, he decided during one of his uber-night-owl stretches to rearrange things. So that morning in the dark, I walked right into it. WOW did it hurt. Broken. It was swollen and purple for a long time, and the purple business spread halfway down my foot like the Mississippi delta. Then it got better, and apparently I completely forgot about it.
Until today, when I remembered the broken toe, and the purple color, and the rock, and Andy caring about things like that, and how badly he felt about my owie, (I tried to not complain at all, since he was the man with brain cancer and I only had a throbbing foot) and................ *sob* he's gone and I can't show him the purple toenail and have him bless it with a laugh or a kiss or even a dismissive diffident wave. (I'd take anything.)
Give thanks, give thanks, give thanks. For these things that are reminders of what a fun and caring guy he was, for the time we had together in my house, for the rocks, for the love, for the life I have yet to live. There will be days like this. There will be little stretches of time where I forget things, and there will be remembering. It's all.... ok. The purple toenail will get better, very very slowly. I'll miss my Annoo forever and ever and ever. One of these things is physical, the other is pure heart and soul.
When I was giving myself a little pedi a couple of weeks ago, I noticed that the middle toe on my left foot has a purple toenail. Hmmm, I thought, that's Rather Strange. No memory of dropping a rock on it. You'd think a person would remember something like that. I looked at it closely and came to the conclusion that it was getting better, not worse, and as far as I could see the nail was not going to come off. End of chapter, still no clue WHY this toe was purple.
Ho ho, today I figured it out. I woke up (and you know what that means: first thing, the wrecking ball realization that your child is dead, *sob*) and took the dogs downstairs to feed them. Coming back to the stairs from the kitchen, I reach out with my foot to slide the little oriental rug back where it's supposed to be. On the corner of the rug there is a ROCK. It's perfectly round and about the size of a cantaloupe, granite with a fat white stripe around it. (I collect rocks; they're all over the house, LOL. I mean ALL OVER the house!)
And it comes back to me: on January 5th, at 6 am, I stubbed -- as in BROKE -- that toe on that rock. Andy had moved it the night before. The previous few months, it had been on the outside corner of the rug, holding down a curled-up corner. Andy's brilliant idea, which worked. But for some reason, he decided during one of his uber-night-owl stretches to rearrange things. So that morning in the dark, I walked right into it. WOW did it hurt. Broken. It was swollen and purple for a long time, and the purple business spread halfway down my foot like the Mississippi delta. Then it got better, and apparently I completely forgot about it.
Until today, when I remembered the broken toe, and the purple color, and the rock, and Andy caring about things like that, and how badly he felt about my owie, (I tried to not complain at all, since he was the man with brain cancer and I only had a throbbing foot) and................ *sob* he's gone and I can't show him the purple toenail and have him bless it with a laugh or a kiss or even a dismissive diffident wave. (I'd take anything.)
Give thanks, give thanks, give thanks. For these things that are reminders of what a fun and caring guy he was, for the time we had together in my house, for the rocks, for the love, for the life I have yet to live. There will be days like this. There will be little stretches of time where I forget things, and there will be remembering. It's all.... ok. The purple toenail will get better, very very slowly. I'll miss my Annoo forever and ever and ever. One of these things is physical, the other is pure heart and soul.
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