My mother has been in rehab for two weeks after 3 in hospital for a systemic infection which continues, fortunately at a much reduced level, but which has also left her essentially immobilized and in considerable discomfort. Not fun anytime, but especially when you’re 80. So I’ve been visiting on alternate days trying to provide a connection to the outside world, encourage her hard work in PT, and just let her know we love her. However, even with those good intentions I have noticed myself becoming a bit frustrated that the PT hasn’t progressed any faster. “Come on, Mom. It’s going to be hard work, and it will be painful, but you need to work through that in order to get back on your feet.” That sort of thing; Ed, the personal trainer.

Until two days ago when I pulled muscles in my back after shoveling wet snow too vigorously for too long. That night I couldn’t take my socks off without sitting down, pulling on foot onto the opposite knee and gently tugging, first the toe, then the heel. For two days it has taken me 15 extra minutes to get dressed in the morning. I get in and out of my car by slowly sitting backward, perpendicular to the seat, then more slowly dragging myself into driving position. I won’t let myself sneeze while driving because the pain brings tears to my eyes and would definitely distract me from the road.

So, I’m at least partially considering that this back pain is meant to be instructive. Cut Mom a bit more slack. Allow time for the PT process to work. Pain is a legitimate voice from one’s body. OK, I get it. Lesson received. Now, I need help putting on my suit coat…

It’s been a while. Life simply got in the way and refused me the time and inclination to write. However, it’s a new year, and I just had an encounter that begs recording, at least in the parameters of my life and what increasingly matters.

Earlier this morning I made passing eye contact with a woman in our waiting room. Some barely perceptible click occurred and I glanced back to discover her doing the same thing. No nods, no smiles of recognition, but the click was a bit louder. I allowed that to linger for several seconds waiting for the “Aha!” that never came, so I simply completed my tasks and returned to my office. Thirty minutes later new business brought me back through the waiting room and this time we both began with, “Aren’t you…..”

We first knew each other in 1976 when I was a first year English teacher and she was a sophomore. A few years later I became an elementary school principal; she got married and had children who attended the school. Since it’s Vermont, after a 10-year circuitous trip in and out of being a principal, I returned as a high school principal, and one of her children was a freshman. So, after 35 years we spent 35 minutes playing “Do you remember…?” and “Where is…”

This was such a rich encounter. It illustrates not only the jewel of connections and how we touch each others lives, but also reinforces the notion from Marian Wright Edleman in her little book The Measure of Our Success, “…that many fruits of your labor will not become manifest for many, many years.”