Dad arrives late one evening, as I'm getting ready for bed. Sure enough, he carries another bouquet of mixed flowers.
"Hi, Baby Girl," he smiles as he pecks my cheek.
"Hi, Daddy. Thank you," I say, receiving the flowers from him.
"How are you?" he asks, his eyes widening with curiosity.
I fill him in on all the days since he's been gone – walking with the prosthetic leg, practicing with cane, walker, crutches, wheelchair, changing my own bandages, the progress of my left leg.
And Ethan. I tell my dad about Ethan.
"The boy who saved your life?" Dad asks.
"Well, he's not exactly a boy," I laugh. "He's 25, I think. But, yeah, that's him. He visits often and he's been to therapy with me a few times. He's a physical therapist, too, so he's a big help. He encourages me when I'm frustrated, which is often. And he sent me those flowers," I point to the vase on the windowsill. The Gerber daisies are just starting to wilt, but their color is as vibrant as ever. "Oh, and look, he and his sisters put together this little gift basket for me."
My dad looks amused at the fact that I'm getting so excited talking about Ethan.
"Sounds like I should meet this guy," Dad comments.
"Yeah, you might want to thank him for saving your daughter's life," I tease.
"That, and make sure he takes good care of you," he smiles.
"Oh, good grief, Dad, it's not like that. I'm sure he's just being nice."
"I'm sure he is," my dad says with a knowing smile.
I change the subject before he can tease me any more. "Mom said you had some big news."
"Yes! I wanted to tell you in person," he says excitedly. "I'm going to be working from home for a few months!"
I stare at him with my mouth agape. This is unprecedented. My dad has never been home for more than a week at a time. We vacationed with him in Europe for a few weeks when I was in junior high, but he's never actually been home for longer than seven days.
"How?"
"Well, I've been with the company for a long time now, so I do have some leverage. I told my team that I need to take some time off to take care of you and your mom, and they agreed, very easily, I must say. I guess that's one benefit of being their slave for so long," he concludes with a wink. It never would have occurred to me to think that Dad would cash in on his good reputation. But I feel very honored that he wants to be with me, to help me. "I am also entitled to some FMLA time. I will do some work from home, some from Bloomfield Hills, and I will simply take some time off."
"FMLA?" I ask.
"Family Medical Leave Act. It entitles family members to a leave of absence to care for sick family members, just like this."
"Oh, Daddy. I'm so glad you'll be here for a while. I've missed you." He leans in to me and I give him a giant squeeze.
Mom has begun her leave from work as well, even though my release from the hospital was delayed a bit. This means that both my mom and dad are able to accompany me to physical therapy. Patrick shows them a lot of different helpful things, like helping me in and out of the wheelchair, spotting me when I'm walking with the prosthesis, helping me up if I fall. Or, more likely, when I fall.
Mitch, the social worker, has met with my parents as well. Shortly after his first visit with me, he made a trip to our house to advise them about making things accessible for me. From what I hear, my parents are having a ramp built on the front of our house. They will be converting the main floor office to a bedroom for me, and they will be adding on to the bathroom so that I have a handicap-accessible shower. The renovations sound kind of interesting, but at the same time, it feels strange since I'm the one who is handicapped.
I've gotten to the point in therapy now that I'm moving around pretty well with the aid of the prosthesis. I've learned that I will be fitted for my own prosthesis before I leave rehab. I won't take the temporary prosthesis home because, well, it belongs to the rehab clinic, and they don't want my leg to get too formed to it, since it's not designed specifically for me. So I will be using a wheelchair at first. And I can choose to use crutches or a walker, so I'm practicing a lot with those too.
I'm getting more and more comfortable with my stump every day, too. It's still slightly bizarre to think that I once had a whole leg in that empty space on my bed. When I put on the prosthetic leg, it still tricks my brain, making me feel like I'm seeing something that isn't really there. That will take some getting used to.
Another thing that will take some getting used to is a phenomenon called phantom pains. That means that my right leg sometimes hurts, you know the one that's actually missing. Or I have an itch on the bottom of my right foot that I can't scratch for obvious reasons. Or there will be a funny little twinge or sensation somewhere else on the missing leg. The itches and twinges are more common than pain. I've been told that some people have excruciating phantom pain after an amputation, so I'm definitely thankful that I don't have to deal with that. All of this has something to do with my brain not quite understanding the fact that my leg is gone, or it's possibly that all the nerves that were once connected to the rest of my leg sometimes just go a little berserk not having anything to connect to anymore. Even medical professionals don't entirely understand why it happens.
Ethan hasn't visited in several days. The card that came with the flowers said see you in a few days, but it's been almost a week. I wonder if the novelty has worn off. The girl whose life he saved is now getting better. Maybe he doesn't feel so obligated any more. I shouldn't feel hurt, right? I wasn't really planning to let him into my heart. But I think I'd still like to have him in my life. I can't help but feel just a little disappointed when I think that maybe he's done with me.
The day before I'm released from the hospital, Tori, a representative from a local prosthetics company meets with Patrick, my parents and me. She takes all kinds of measurements so that she can begin working on a permanent prosthetic leg for me. I'm surprised to realize that I'm actually feeling kind of excited about this now. Once I get used to my very own prosthesis, then I will feel much more like normal.
At least I hope I will.
My parents spend a long time with me after therapy, getting last minute notes from the doctors and making sure that everything is ready for me to be released in the morning. After all of the commotion of the day has died down, and my parents have gone home, familiar blue eyes greet me at my door.
"Hi Sarah," Ethan smiles.
"Hey."
"Sorry I haven't been able to visit for a while. My dad was out of town for a conference, and I had to take care of my siblings," he explains as he makes his way over, now kissing my cheek.
"I thought you were just getting tired of me crying and complaining," I sigh.
"No, not at all," he shakes his head adamantly. "First of all, you've hardly complained, and second, crying might just be part of the game for a while." Ethan squeezes my hand. "And I hope this doesn't mean the end of our visits. I missed you, too."
"I missed you, too," I admit to him. Then I decide that this might be a good time to ask Ethan about the fear that's been rolling around in my mind for the past several days. "So, you know a lot about God, right?"
He chuckles a bit and says, "I guess so. I don't know everything, that's for sure." He playfully pushes my left leg aside and takes a seat on my bed.
"Well, there are some things you don't know about me," I tell him. "First of all, I'm not exactly a Christian. I mean, I believe in God and everything, but I'm not very religious."
"You might have mentioned that, actually," he says. At this point, I expect him to start telling me why I should be more serious about my faith. Instead, he just looks at me expectantly, like he's really interested in what else I'm going to say.
"I just wonder if maybe God did this to me because I'm not really going to church and stuff," I say, feeling kind of awkward about saying it out loud.
He still looks at me intently, nodding just a little. It's almost like I can see the gears in his head turning. Is he going to say I'm terrible or pathetic for not taking one hour each week to go to church? I'm fully expecting him to tell me that yes, God is punishing me. But then maybe he can tell me how to make it right so nothing else happens to me.
When he finally speaks, I'm amazed by what he has to say. "So, you're wondering if God caused this accident because he's mad at you," he says, clarifying what I just told him. I nod nervously. He leans in to make sure I'm looking right into his eyes. "God is not a cruel and wrathful god. He is a loving Father. He would never do anything to intentionally hurt you. He does not punish us as our sins deserve."
"Is that from the Bible?" I ask, thinking it sounds familiar, and he nods. "I grew up learning that God does punish us because our sins are bad."
"Then you didn't learn the whole story. God used to punish people for their sins. He would make them wear itchy clothes and sit down in the dirt and sprinkle ashes on their foreheads. He required them to make sacrifices to him in order to forgive them."
"Yeah," I say. "That's what I thought."
"But," Ethan says, "God is completely good and loving. He wanted to do something more for his people when they fell away. So he sent Jesus to us."
"Why?" I ask. "I mean, it sounds stupid that I don't really know all of this."
"Not stupid at all," he assures me. "God poured himself into the form of a man, and that man was Jesus. He came to be just like one of us so he could see things from our perspective."
"So we can't say that God doesn't understand us, because he does, right?" I feel a little giddy, like I'd just gotten the right answer on a test.
"Exactly," he says, a smile lighting up his whole face.
"I get it," I say. "But I still think he probably doesn't know exactly how I feel, you know?"
He softly takes one of my hands in his. It feels warm and firm, reassuring. "This is where I don't have all the answers. I think he can understand you because he's God and he can do anything. But yeah, Jesus didn't get his leg cut off, so it's hard to know how he could commiserate with you. But there's a level of trust involved, knowing that he understands suffering and wants to help us through it. I guess that's why it's called faith because we have to trust him even when we don't understand."
"And what about being punished? I mean, I know I'm not perfect," I shrug.
"Jesus took the punishment for our sins when he died on the cross."
I smile even though I don't fully understand all of it. I'm warmed by Ethan's presence and our conversation. It means a lot to me that he doesn't judge me for not going to church or for the things I don't quite grasp.
"You're an extraordinary woman, Sarah," he tells me softly. He lifts his hand to brush my hair away from my face. "I like you. A lot." His words are strong and determined.
I stare at him in awe for a moment, not even able to blink, but eventually, my face becomes hot and I look down at my hands in my lap. "I don't feel very extraordinary. I just think you don't know me very well. You think I'm brave, but in reality, I'm terrified. I'm going home tomorrow and then what? I have to learn to live my life in a whole new way. I'm really scared." My chest heaves with unwanted emotion.
"It's okay to be scared," he says quietly, gently sliding his hand under my chin. "But if it's okay with you, I'd like to stick with you and you know, maybe help you not to be so scared." I nod weakly and he tilts my face up, closer to his. As he leans close, I gulp with a combination of anxiety and excitement. The next thing I know, his lips are on mine and despite my shock, I kiss him back.
He pulls back after a few moments and says, "I hope that was okay."
"It was wonderful," I smile.
He looks down shyly. "I meant, I hope it's okay that I kissed you." He looks back at me, his eyes sparkling with laughter.
"Okay, now I'm really embarrassed," I say, laughing, too but I'm honestly too thrilled to care. "Yeah, it's okay." After a few moments of comfortable silence, my thoughts pull me down out of the clouds and I tell him, "I just don't want you to get too involved and then realize I'm not really the person you thought I was."
"I'm not God, but I think I can understand you better than you realize," Ethan assures me.
"Well, I'm not sure what you see," I tell him. "I'm feeling pretty messed up right now."
"It won't always be this way, I promise. You'll get your life back." Ethan leans in with those last words and kisses me gently again. Then he moves to my side, scooting me over and wrapping me in a cocoon of a hug.
I feel like I'm floating when I should be confused as hell.
We just kissed.
I never expected that to happen.
But it did and I liked it.
I decide to stop over-thinking and just be in the moment with him. I lean my head against him and we sit together like that for a long time. His arm is around me and I lean into him, feeling snug and safe. We chat a bit here and there, but neither one of us feels compelled to keep a conversation going. When he gets up to leave, he says, "So, I'll be seeing you at therapy this week, right?"
"Mmhmm," I answer, stifling a yawn. I will be continuing my physical therapy at his father's clinic on the west side of town, a fact for which I am exceedingly grateful because I don't want to lose touch with him.
Before he leaves, he leans in and gives me another lingering kiss, and one more on my cheek. When he walks out the door, I still feel like I'm glowing.
Somehow, everything seems brighter when I'm with Ethan.
* * * * *
Would you let that cutie pie kiss you??? :D