Sometimes things don’t turn out as predicted. Yesterday was my first full day home after knee replacement surgery. My understanding has been that I am supposed to be in horrible pain, packed in ice, sipping soup carefully prepared by tearful family members. Something went wrong and yesterday I made my own breakfast, supper and midnight snack. Lunch was a whole different delightful surprise. I am not sure my family was aware I was home. I have been calling my different experience a miracle, others seem to insist it’s just a somewhat unusual variation to what normally happens. They keep promising me that tomorrow it will be horrible as advertised. Not surprisingly, I have chosen to hope they are wrong.
Many years ago my Saturdays were spent in a dream world. I drove a little red car to parks with a special girl. We played and had fun like there was no one else in the world. We called it fun day. I have never forgotten fun days. Sometimes I miss them terribly.
Tomorrow, my miracle might end on the first day of at home physical therapy. I am told my therapist trained in the Third Reich. He seemed nice enough to me. If my miracle ends, that will be fine. God didn’t just give me a miracle. He gave me a heroine.
If this doesn’t make sense to you, too bad. It wasn’t written for you anyway.
Sleep tight little girl and be blessed. Damn I miss Fun Day.