Walking Grateful

After I write this post, I’m going to join my wife in a three-mile walk around the neighborhood. This is not as simple an accomplishment as it sounds. Back in May, 2006, two years before we were married (in fact, more than a year before I proposed), Ana was running out to do some errands and tripped on the steps, slamming one foot down against a concrete floor. The impact broke her knee. It was an awful compound fracture, shattered in sixteen places, and she couldn’t walk for well over a year. On June 10, 2007, the day I kneeled on a restaurant balcony floor facing a Hawaiian sunset and asked her to marry me, she was still on crutches. That fall she had surgery to help clear out the remaining debris, so that poor knee could finally heal all the way. The surgery, happily, was successful. And then the following summer, in the midst of a tornado — an extremely rare thing in New England where she was at the time — she tripped and fell. On that same concrete floor. And broke her knee. Again. Yes, the same knee. For the next several months I watched her once again grit through physical therapy. Filled bags of ice for cold packs, carried her books and bags, helped her up and down the stairs. Served as her hands in the kitchen as we cooked. We went on quite a few trips during that time, and itineraries dotted with airport wheelchairs, crutches through squeezy airplane aisles, electric scooters at conventions, and bag upon bag of ice from rattling hotel ice...
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