19: To a brother

ICU is not an acronym any of us want to hear. With the power to hit to wind out of you every time.

Driving back from a slow weekend in Montagu, I told my wife let’s have a late lunch at Pink Valley wine estate before we pick up Louis, our Weim. A leisurely Sunday in the land of wine.

Sunday afternoon has always had the potential to keep me in two minds about stretching the weekend or hitting the gym hard on a Monday morning.

I had just put our dusty cooler box on the counter when a brother phoned from Ireland.

Initially, I thought it was a celebratory call, celebrating a race finished. Instead, “Dirkie het geval.” He passed out and fell and hurt his head. Something about potassium and electrolytes. What?

He is in the ICU.

No longer in two minds, I paced around the house, watering a wet garden, stretching a half-a-bottle-of-rosé body, and going to bed exhausted, wondering how a mother and a brother would sleep tonight.

Two days later, I saw a post, “Ons is almal op ons kniee.”

Stretching.

So much so that I started doing yoga the next day. In a house from a previous chapter where we shared memories a many.

Thousands of prayers and 19 days later. Home.

For a brother’s rest.

Make the time.