The sun came out this morning, and I was able to pull weeds, including some very tall wild onions which were beginning to form aerial bulbs. It warmed the Cecile Brunner Rose long enough for me to enjoy a few good sniffs while I sat on my porch and warmed myself in the sunlight. Cecile is the original old sweetheart rose, and although tiny, her fragrance is huge and much like that of Channel No.5. These ephemeral moments in the early morning sun on a spring day send my spirits soaring.
My daughter called this afternoon in tears, the strain of the past few days, missed sleep and memories of her father, as well as the sudden awareness she has been plunged into the next chapter of life by the birth of her first grandchild, hit her at once.
Connie put her finger on what affects us both, thinking about those we have lost, a wound that reopens when a new child arrives. She says the baby will call her Grammy, which is what she called my mother.
I told her David and I would drive down as soon as we have a few decent days of weather. We don’t do rain any more, dodging trucks on Route 66 is a challenge on a good day.
With the torn ligament in my shoulder, I am in constant pain when I drive, and I do most of the driving. Plus, the ophthalmologist thinks my eye muscles have grown weaker, probably from the stroke I had ten years ago, hence the bouts of double vision. Of course, I have yet another appointment on the calendar with a specialist in eye muscles. Who knew?
Heck, typing a few lines in a post is a pain, although good for retaining some mental sharpness I’m told. Meanwhile David and I must content ourselves with photos. More from the hospital below, although she’s at home now.
Waiting to go home today.
Granddad in his work clothes. He held her hand through the delivery.