After the sutures

Everyone falls down.
No one enjoys the aftermath.

But the real test
comes after the sutures --

the chance to thank the surgeon
who did his quiet work

despite the imprecations
and the thrashing.

Sometimes when I miss the mark
I flail and lash out

just like our three-year-old.
But when I calm

I remember how to thank You
for my mistakes, even when they hurt

for Your messengers who cradle me
for the mountains and the moon

for my son's long body nestled
into me like a crane

for Your arms and heart
holding me together

on the days when I break
and the days when I am whole.

I started working on this post after our son got stitches, late last month. (He's fine! He just took a tumble, as very active kids are wont to do, and needed a few stitches on his chin.) What amazed me about the experience of taking him to the emergency room is that while he clearly had a tough time with the actual stitches (and who wouldn't?), as soon as the suturing was over, he calmed down, and as we left the E.D., he thanked every doctor and nurse "for fixing my boo-boo." It's incredibly powerful for me that our son says thank you after a traumatic experience like getting sewn up -- even though he didn't enjoy the stitching, he understood deep down that these people were there to help him, and that when people help you, you say thank you.

I'm sharing this poem today as part of #BlogElul -- you can find other posts on this theme by searching with that hashtag.