The rain lapped against the windows yesterday. The air was chilled, almost frigid, and winter was knocking at the door. So far, we have enjoyed a lengthy fall and the warm temperatures have spoiled us rotten. It is one of the first bone aching cold days of the season.
As I was inside rushing to accomplish two hours worth of tasks in twenty minutes, J.R. was outside working on installing new gutters - a project that has sat unfinished for longer than I care to think about. After a long while, J.R. appeared in the kitchen to relieve me from Baby detail so I could head to work.
His fleece coat was dotted with rain drops, and a cold draft snuck into the kitchen when he opened the door. I watched as he took his shoes off and reached for the zipper of his jacket. His hand fumbled with the pull tab for a moment before he could firmly grasp and pull the zipper down. It seemed like smooth sailing until the zipper caught at the very end. Frustration. Stuck in a coat that wont come off because an injured hand is too cold, too stiff, and too riddled with nerve damage to function. He rips the jacket off and throws it to the ground. Another zipper broken.
While four years have almost passed since J.R. was injured, we still deal with his injuries every day. To say that we (and I say WE because my life has been rocked by the events of Dec. 19th as well) have "recovered," is stretching it. We have both learned to cope, but occasionally the zipper breaks and anger bubbles to the surface. In an hour the anger simmers down and the coo's of an infant remind you that there is life to smile for.