Storytelling Thursdays
The 4Generation House (Part Three)
My computer files are filled with the stories I have written. Some are true, some are not. Some made it into books, some did not. Some are still in my head waiting to be written. Hopefully, having a story in your inbox on Thursdays will brighten your weeks as winter trudges toward spring. I will also recommend some books I have loved!
The 4Generation House (2011-2013)
This story (shared over the next few weeks) was part of a manuscript written before I began my therapy journey in 2014. It was never published but sections were included in two chapters of A Brave Life: Survival, Resilience, Faith and Hope after Childhood Trauma. Many of our most treasured—and stressful—memories occurred during those three years. I am grateful that I paused to collect the stories.
Falling at a Garage Sale
A few days after moving into the house, I fell at a garage sale. While sitting on the ground trying not to cry, I looked up to see a small boy who lived in the house, standing before me.
“I fell down too,” he said sympathetically. “See my owie?”
A marvelous Cars-themed Band-Aid covered the worst of the damage on his knee.
“Do you need one?” he asked. “I have more Cars Band-Aids, and I can get you one.”
The boy’s mother and I exchanged smiles, and she went to the house to retrieve the first aid. The small child continued his care and concern until my knee recovered enough to limp to my car with my Cars Band-Aid and ice pack.
Generally optimistic about my falls, I proclaimed my knee would stop hurting in an hour or so, but this was not the case. In fact, it just got worse, and so we headed to the ER. X-rays indicated no broken bones, but the doctor said, “It’s going to hurt more before it hurts less” and prescribed pain pills. I remained optimistic.
As always happens with Codeine, before long the urge to vomit overcame me. Sitting in my chair with my leg in a brace presented a problem. “Get me something!” I cried.
Scott, in the middle of preparing meatloaf for dinner, grabbed the bowl he just emptied and quickly delivered it to me. What he handed me didn’t matter until the episode left me holding a doubly-disgusting bowl.
“What did you bring me?” I asked. “Surely there was something else!”
“Well, you sounded really desperate,” he calmly answered. He had a point.
After the bowl was removed (we may have thrown it away), I sat in the chair and considered how much work still needed to be done in setting up the house. Now what? I limped off to bed, completely unaware the house would soon be the least of my worries!
When the Doorbell Rings
Living in a big house did have its challenges (beyond the cleaning of it). Sometimes we felt too far away from each other. We purchased monitors for the children’s rooms and two doorbells for the master suite my father called home.
The doorbells reminded me of a favorite children’s book, The Doorbell Rang. In the story, a mother is baking cookies, and each time the doorbell rings a new set of children and cookie-dividing problems arrives. Similarly, whenever a doorbell in the master suite rang, no one knew what might be coming, but it surely would involve problem solving.
The day after my fall at the garage sale, my dad’s doorbell rang very early in the morning. He hadn’t felt well since his arrival, and now he had lung pain. We eventually realized he had developed blood clots during the plane flight.
Helpless in my knee brace, I watched Scott leave to take my father to the emergency room—the same room and the same doctor who had taken care of me the day before. The doctor stared at Scott and said, “Well, you’ve had a rough weekend.”
After completing the hospital admission process, Scott returned home, drove me to the hospital, procured a wheel chair, and wheeled me to the hospital room my father and I would share for several days.
We have a photo of me sitting in a chair beside my dad’s bed with my leg packed in ice. By about the third day, thanks to the excellent care we received, we were taking walks. What a sight: first came the walker, then the old man with a nurse helping him, followed by a woman in a leg brace pulling the oxygen tank.
We spent close to a week in the hospital. My weary body needed this time to read a book, take care of my leg, and rest.
But I wouldn’t have made the choice voluntarily.
My still-unpacked area of the house remained exactly as left. Once home, though, life began to settle into a routine. There seemed to be a new story every day! At this point, we had only lived in the house a couple weeks; there was so much ahead of us!
To Be Continued
(Reprinted from A Brave Life: Survival, Resilience, Faith and Hope after Childhood Trauma)
Have you read The Doorbell Rang?
Pat Hutchins is one of my favorite authors and The Doorbell Rang is a book that was one of my go-to examples for using literature to teach math concepts to children. Beyond being a fantastic teaching resource, the story is delightful!
Sometimes I wonder how one more thing could happen.... And what people must think.
Yes I have used that book in the classroom too! It’s lots of fun.