Saturday, 20 July 2013

I was told that when my Father's mother died, he was called in to do emergency surgery. A man came over to his house, crying, begging him to come over to the hospital and save his father, who for some reason, no other surgeon would touch.
My Father got up and went, and the man was saved.

Can you imagine doing surgery?
Can you imagine doing emergency surgery?
Right after the death of a much-loved parent?

How can I cry and wail for such a man?
When he died I came home and shut the door.
My study was very quiet. I locked the door and shut the blinds. I put on my computer - this computer that I'm typing on now. I checked my email. I had a few messages from work. One was from a company I wanted to apply for a job with. They wanted to know if I was still available. Of course I am, I replied. Please send me details of the opening as soon as you have them.

Then I went for a shower. I straightened my hair so it fell becomingly across my forehead. I did my eye-makeup. I put on lipgloss. I went over a list of things I needed to read for work. I went downstairs, and ate lunch. A friend's mother came over and started 'arranging' our living room. I coordinated efforts. Flowers, extra rugs on the floor, chairs this way or that, tray of glasses for drinking water.

I was not shaking, or in any pain whatsoever. A state I have not recaptured since.

Amazing, the power of a story. 

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