I’m inclined to mention, this week, how very grateful I am. For every “boring” day, for my kids’ healthy hearts (about which, thanks to the marvels of modern medicine, I was again recently reassured), and for dirty dishes.
You see, healthy hearts make dirty dishes. Lots and lots of ’em. And leave them in the sink. And on the coffee table and in their bedrooms. And if you’ve got a really busy healthy heart on your hands, why, they may also leave them in the bathroom, too!
In fact, right this moment, as I lay here in bed typing this column in the wee hours of the morning, there’s a beautiful example of the effects of a healthy heart perched proudly on the edge of the bathroom sink across the hall in all of its peanut-buttery glory. At least I think it’s peanut butter. I’m not really sure what that gunk is, actually, but I’m glad for it because whatever it is will surely make that ticker tick even louder.
And I’m not the least bit ticked off about it, either. Because suffering the wonders for a moment or a day yields a perspective that makes it far easier to keep your cool when setting necessary limits. Don’t worry, dear reader, I’ll set them. With a smile in my heart.
Other hearts in the Motherhood aren’t so lucky, this week. My friend’s own heart was broken as she said goodbye to her home and her girls in preparation for having a pump implanted in her ailing heart, which earlier this year was weakened by a massive heart attack. She’ll stay in the ICU for however long it takes for a new heart to become available. In the meantime, she’ll undergo treatment to kill all of the antibodies in her blood, as they reportedly would attack a new heart.
The gravity of these myriad circumstances isn't lost on her as she prays about and ponders the grim and graceful process that will yield to her new life. We’re all part of such a great, unfolding mystery, are’t we?
My friend’s gratitude for her part in it inspires me. I’m praying for my dear friend, for the dear family who will donate their loved one’s precious heart so that she may live and – yes, oh, yes – for more dirty dishes.
Jennifer DuBose lives in Batavia with her family. Her column runs regularly in the Kane Weekend section of the Kane County Chronicle. Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org.