Today started like the others and ended quite differently.

At about 11:30 this morning, they booted us out of RIO and we made our way across NW 22nd. It was actually snowing as we stepped outside but before we’d made it half a block, the tenuous flakes had reverted to their liquid state, making one think, of course, of the words of Dan Fogelberg. You know the ones:

...And as I turned to make my way back home
The snow turned into rain…

That transition was, for the character in Fogelberg’s ballad, an embodiment of melancholy. For us, however, it was ideal. Tanja had expressly wished for a rainy day so she could home and get cozy. In the rain, we made the drive I’ve made so many times of late, but this time I was no longer alone.

The living room is now set up as a kind of activity center for Tanja. There’s the puzzle table. There’s the keyboard for dexterity practice. And the all-important couch for the therapeutic resting.

Within fifteen minutes of our arrival, the sun poked out and began soaking the porch with bright, warm light. Tanja and Wren sat out on the steps–the air was chill, but the sun was warm–and they looked so good and natural together that it felt for a moment as if the past three weeks had never happened.

Tanja has still got a long way to go. But we know we have been very, very lucky–whatever you mean by “luck.” It is often hard to make sense of why some things happen and some things don’t. Without pretending to be an expert in human consciousness, I believe it has something to do with our hard-wired compulsion to turn data into stories. We do it all the time, with hardly any effort.

It feels right to say that Tanja had this terrible accident, so unlucky, and then, with typical spirit and energy, she took on her recovery and created this progress we’re seeing. And there’s something to that. But a lot of it is chance–the displacement was bad, but not as bad as it could’ve been. The fall could’ve been four stairs instead of three, the injury complete instead of incomplete. The operation went well. The care was great. We are grateful.

A lot of people in my cohort don’t think much of the music of Dan Fogelberg. Folksy to the point of softness. Maudlin maybe. But for whatever reason, back in 1979, he landed with me. I spent a lot of time singing along to Illinois. Then, you know, I drifted on to harder stuff.

So I was not aware of his battle with and ultimate death from cancer. Handsome, talented, husband, father. Did he have spirit? Did he have luck? So when he popped into my head today, after so many years, it just made me think about friends and colleagues I know who are dealing with their own trials, making sense of them however they can. We all know these people and, given time, we’ll all be these people, each in our own way.

Sometimes you feel there is not much you can do. But thoughts, notes, cards, flowers, chocolate, food, prayers, kindness and love–I’m happy to say these things have made and continue to make a huge difference for us. Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Happy to announce we will have a guest writer tomorrow!

Meanwhile, it would be too much of a softball to drop Illinois in here and, honestly, Tanja doesn’t recognize the existence of Dan Fogelberg. But when I went to get her this morning, I left the radio going and when we came in, KMHD was playing Nina Simone, a favorite of Tanja’s: