Learning to Dance With the Limp
Something crazy happened on Saturday morning. Dan and I had an overnight in Minneapolis—to see Jersey Boys and eat tapas at Solera. We were the first ones to show up to breakfast the next morning. We ordered. Then, a cute older couple walked in (not old, maybe mid-50s). They walked past us, and the guy dropped. Just like that.
The woman behaved as though her husband were having a seizure. She kept slapping his face and saying, “Wake up, honey. Wake up!” Later she began saying things like, “You have people to see. You have God’s work to do. Wake up now!” Since she didn’t call out for help (as people do when loved ones are having heart attacks), we thought he was having a seizure. 911 was called.
Maybe three minutes went by. Then a waiter began doing chest compressions, and that’s when Dan bolted up, saying, “It must not be a seizure.” Dan checked for a pulse, then slammed his fist into the man’s chest, hoping to start his heart. The woman looked like she was in shock. Dan continued doing chest compressions and mouth-to-mouth until the paramedics arrived.
The paramedics shocked him, gave him epinephrine. When they had a pulse, they loaded him into the ambulance—wife in tow.
I couldn’t help but think about that woman all weekend. It was such a sobering sight. My heart ached for her.
Why didn’t she yell for help?
I was glad it wasn’t Dan. And I began thinking what that would feel like.
Not good, that’s for sure.
“You will lose someone you can’t live without, and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn’t seal back up. And you come through. It’s like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.”
— Anne Lamott
Reminder: The 11th Living the Questions podcast, entitled “What One Trait Do You Want To Pass Onto Your Child” went up yesterday morning. Enjoy!
[Post image: Broken Heart by Kiomi on stock.xchng]
Don Rogers
My wife and I have been married 44 years. As I think about all those years, three grown sons, five grandchildren, I know that someday we will part. I have absolutely no fear of my death. But, as you say here, if my wife goes first, my heart will be broken. I simply want to be the first to continue the journey elsewhere.
Elissa
Oh, Don, I KNOW. You’ve been married double the amount I have (we’re coming up on 20 years!), so I can’t even imagine. I don’t fear death, either. It would still be painful to lose someone, though…
Lindsey
What a thing to witness … wow. Sobering, and a reminder of the fragility of all we love most, indeed. I adore that Annie Lamott passage, too. xox
Sandy
I have copied this down in my journal. I read it every day, and then I go out into my day — limping.
Elissa
xo