I’ve spent the last three weeks at a hospital and rehab facility with a loved one. I am not the patient. I am the observer. I am the one who must make all the decisions. I must attempt to portray the thoughts and wishes of my loved one in a socially graceful manner. I have a background in business and policy and public relations. I am a thoughtful person. Still, these experiences are new to me. Who am I to make decisions for another? Who am I to interpret the efficacy of care given to mine? Who am I to be given the task of keeping someone from falling who has balance issues? Who am I to determine where to go from here?
It’s just me, Lord, and I feel wanting. It is times like this which convince me to write fiction. I have so much control when writing fiction. I know what will happen because I make things happen. Now I am the professor without the answer key in a script not written by me. My one character is a loving, kind, and patient person who puts complete faith in me. This has not happened to me before aside from my raising my little ones; and I was so young and lacking in the knowledge I maybe could make the wrong decisions. I was certain then I could decide well. Why, with all my longevity in living do I so doubt myself? Why am I fearful. Experience tells me I should draw faith from my successes. Intelligence tells me I could fail my loved one.
I will write some fiction today if for no other reason than to calm my thoughts. The brain is a wily creature, I think, and often out of control. I will write and while doing so, cause some direction in my gray matter. Calmness is a better background for decision making. And on Friday, he is coming home. I do rejoice in welcoming him back.
K. B. Pellegrino, Author