Mom tripped over the threshold between the living room and kitchen on August 25th. She said she tried to regain her balance but instead wind-milled forward, going faster and faster until she crashed headfirst into the dining table.

She drifted in and out of consciousness. Dad was outside and she called to him several times before he heard her. He found her on the floor in the kitchen surrounded by an impressive amount of blood. (Head wounds are such drama queens.) Two lacerations required six or seven stitches at the emergency room.

A CT scan revealed fractures in the orbit of the left eye and nerve damage, which will most likely regenerate. She suffered whiplash when her head snapped backwards. It explains why her neck and shoulders are sore. The bruising on her face and neck has faded to green and yellow.

Mom was in New Hampshire when the accident occurred; the rest of the family lives in Colorado, Missouri, Nevada, Wyoming and Georgia. Several of us asked, but she refused all requests for pictures of her face.  

Mom sent a recuperation update email to the family last week from Old Orchard Beach, Maine. Her email was remarkable because it was in the form of a poem. I've never seen or read a poem of hers.

Mom’s a retired English teacher. She was my built in editor and advisor throughout my school years. I asked for her editorial help to shorten my biography the last time she visited me.

Healing is like the sea; beautiful melancholy. I asked her if I could share it. She said, “Yeah, that’s fine.”
 
Healing

by Roberta Pitman

Wounded – old?
Almost afraid,
I burrow-down
By the sea.

Warm, oh warm,
Almost asleep,
I close my eyes -
I am free.

The waves’ sound
Thrum God’s heart -
Say all will be
Well with me.