carrying water in a spoon - jul 25th, 2011
A few weeks ago I told you about the stroke my dad had. I was with him. I watched it happen. This smart, sensitive man was suddenly plunged into a world that he can no longer completely control. Part of him navigates the minutes, the hours that make up each day . . . taking the breaths, doing the routine things that 90+ years of habit dictate. But part of him is disconnected. His speech was affected, so I’m not entirely sure what is going through his mind. But I wonder about it, often.
What a tenuous hold we have on life. One moment we’re up and skiing behind the boat, pushing off the pressure of the water, aware of the burning in our legs as we crouch and lean to pick up speed. Then, in an instant, the rope slips from our hands and we’re watching it fade away in front of us – as we wobble into the wake.
That’s it. The bittersweet truth. All we can ever do is take it moment to moment, carrying water in a spoon – trying not to spill it.