The Fall

I fell. Every time I have my annual Medicare checkup, I am asked to draw the hands on a clock showing 10:50, remember three words and then I am asked, “Have you fallen lately?” Silently, I wonder, doesn’t everyone fall occasionally? I’m always a little nervous about remembering the three words since I forget why I walked into the kitchen these days, but I have no doubt about my ability to draw the clock. I still own clocks with hands on them. I am safe there.

But then I fell. My hands held a box of photos. Not heavy. Not cumbersome. But the box was a visual hinderance so I didn’t see the slight step up on the sidewalk. Not a real step, just a two-inch variation in height. From one level of concrete to the next. My feet moved as if it was level. My eyes assumed it was level. The concrete did not yield. The toe of my shoe hit something solid and my body careened forward. The box flew to the side but not soon enough to allow me to catch my fall, and not slow enough to provide support. My face hit the pavement. Hard. “Oh no,” I heard my self say. Broken teeth for sure, most likely a broken nose. My eyes? They were crying. I felt my teeth, they were all there. My tongue searched for broken edges but found them shaped just as I remembered them. My two friends helped me roll over, and handed me tissue for the flow of blood that ran from my nose into my mouth. I could stand and walk. I could think and talk and even requested that someone google, “Broken Nose.” An old-fashioned ice pack, the kind that looks like a woman’s purse from the early 20^th century, pleated and round, was filled with crushed ice, was flattened out like a dahlia in full summer bloom, and placed on my face.

Google said, go to the hospital. Have a CAT scan. Rule out broken bones and blood clots. I knew I would want anyone I loved to take that advice but I was in Florida on vacation, having fled the monotony and cold of my usual Minnesota winter. I did not want to spend this sunny afternoon in the ER. But off we went. Three hours later, CAT scan complete, I walked through the automatic doors into palm tree sunshine and humidity, looking like a pretty courageous prize fighter, but without broken bones, a concussion, or blood clots. Nothing. Just bruised and cut. I was going to be okay. I was going to be okay. In the absence of any serious injury, I was flooded with gratitude; changed in some small way.

In the absence of things there is a well spring, a birth of gratitude and joy

In the absence of things there is a presence – a space for the sacred

In the absence of things the scared sings, wonders and wanders on fairy wings of spirit essence

In the absence of things possibilities emerge and creativity expands

In the absence of things there are moments where eyes see, each other, souls remember and relationships burst into stardust

In the absence of things wonder lives without words or promises. Just simply true

In the absence of things there is life, sufficient, expansive and undefined

In the absence of things there is no measured time, no yesterday, or tomorrow, only the leaf that decides to leave the branch and ride the wind as a giggle is heard in timeless space.

In the absence of things, I am alive.

In the absence of things I find gratitude.

Janet Elizabeth Hartwick Sterk

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