The Mother of All Disasters

Why title our family chronicles Buckmaster Disaster?

Well I'm glad you asked, my friend.  If you haven't noticed, this isn't one of those blogs where I display pictures of a perfectly groomed child wearing stylin' baby moccasins, while we do an awesome/educational craft on the table I repurposed from recycled doors, sippin' our green smoothies.

That stuff is out there, and I love it!  It's inspiring; I drink up that creativity and marvel at the talents of other people.  But this blog is a record of our life, and we keep it pretty real around here.  Things don't go as planned about 90% of the time, and we've learned to laugh about it and keep moving.  Eventually we look back and see the path we thought we wanted never could have gotten us as far and as happy as we are now!

Buuuut right now I'm waist-deep in a classic Buckmaster Disaster… maybe the mother of all disasters thus far!  Boy, won't it be nice when I can have that perspective, to someday look back and see how a broken ankle could propel us to where we need to be.

In this moment, in the place I'm in now, all I see is crap.  Lots of crap, piled in the garage, spilling out of cardboard boxes, eating me alive!  And where is the mousepad?  Our supply of Advil?  I know as soon as I go out and buy these little missing things they will appear somewhere.

Moving is hard.  Moving with a rambunctious toddler and a crippled husband is stupid.

Three days.  It was three days before we planned to load up the moving truck that Roy called me from basketball.  "I sprained my ankle.  It's bad."

I could hear the strain in his voice, and my stomach dropped.  By the time he got home the swelling had already started, and he couldn't put any weight on it at all.  Roy was in so much pain, but while I was running around finding ibuprofen and ice packs all I could think about was how in the world could he have possibly timed this worse?



Okay, okay, as I'm writing this and glimpsing back at the path, I can already tell you some of the good that miraculously came from this.  That is, the friends swarmed.  

Everyone, everywhere, I was getting calls and texts like you wouldn't believe.  Friends offered meals, friends offered pain killers {hehe}, offered to come help pack, to come help lift, to watch Camden.  We had a podiatrist friend get us all the hookups we needed, and others lending crutches and Ace bandages in the late hours of the night.  I was overwhelmed with a feeling of love--of being loved and loving--that blew my mind.

Way to make leaving Sahuarita even harder, guys!

So while Roy was seeing doctors about his ankle, I had this little guy distracted and playing for a good chunk of each day with some awesome friends.  He absolutely loved it, and I was able to get some major packing done.






That was much better than the alternative...


In the meantime, Roy's doctors told him he would need surgery.  That was devastating news.  But then a miracle happened, and something changed the doctors' minds.  He had a grade three sprain, with some damage done to the back part of the bone in the ankle, and ligaments torn on both sides.  But with a boot and crutches {and plenty of ibuprofen}, he was expected to make a full recovery on his own in a few months.


The relief was short-lived, as I juggled packing with taking care of both Camden and my impaired husband.  We had so many great people helping us on this end of things… but I couldn't help but worry about the new town.  We wouldn't know a soul.  There would be no swarm.  I was afraid we'd be asking much way too much of my parents.

Moving day came, and we successfully got everything packed and loaded, thanks to all our friends and family.  Poor Roy felt completely useless… but I put him on yard sale duty to make him feel better.  ;-)  And my sister took on Camden duty, which was great for him.


On our last evening in Sahuarita we had a bittersweet game night at the Hayes' house, where we made fantastical plans of future meet ups and vacations.  Roy had to keep his foot elevated the whole time- ha!

We took off first thing in the morning with my parents, Alexa, Zac, and his girlfriend Jessica.


Four hours later we were home sweet home.


Roy may not have been able to lift anything himself, but he called in the help.  The moment I stepped out of the car two young men, missionaries of our church, walked up and introduced themselves, rolled up their sleeves, and got to work.  

Soon six or seven strangers showed up and helped us too--members from our new ward family that had received phone calls from the missionaries!  My nightmares were put to rest as everything was unloaded in record time, and we made some new friends.  Not a bad first day, right?



We feel so blessed.



Now to find that mousepad… 


No comments:

Post a Comment