Tomorrow, I go back to work. On Tuesday, it will be 12 weeks since I fell, since death popped into my life, took a look around, shrugged, saying, “Maybe later.” and disappeared. And so I live. I don’t pretend to know what happened that day. There are many who are confident that they do know. Just the mere fact that I am here feels miraculous, but I am okay leaving it at that, something beyond my knowing, beyond my comprehension. Regardless of my peace, the list of what-ifs are endless. What...

I am on the cusp, the space between what is and what will be; the space of what is and what is promised. Here, there is hope for what might come my way. The thing with hope, sometimes what is promised doesn’t come to be. Sometimes life stalls out and we’re left holding the bag of some forlorn and sad-looking hope. Disappointment tends to follow. And yet, tomorrow, August 4th, is the day I can weight bear, putting my full weight on my right leg, allowing me to practice this walking thing that...

I am so tired. I am tired of sitting. I am tired of waiting. I am tired of the pity. I am tired of receiving. I am tired of the drudgery. I am tired of this boredom. I am tired of my moodiness. I am tired of this neck brace. I am tired of unseen sunsets. I am tired of these slow days. I am tired of having no purpose. I am tired of an undone to-do list. I am tired of being told to breathe. I am tired of being pushed around. I am tired of wanting to go nowhere. I am tired of not being able to...