“Walking slowly in the moonlight through the rows of tea plants, I noticed my mother was still with me. She was the moonlight caressing me as she had done so often, very tender, very sweet… wonderful! Each time my feet touched the earth I knew my mother was there with me. I knew this body was not mine alone but a living continuation of my mother and my father and my grandparents and great-grandparents. Of all my ancestors. These feet that I saw as ‘my’ feet were actually ‘our’ feet. Together my mother and I were leaving footprints in the damp soil.”
Twenty-eight days ago, I signed up to be knocked out, have my left leg sliced open so the top of my femur could be sawed off and replaced with titanium. For me, there was a ton of faith, trust and surrendering that was involved with this procedure. But let me tell you, the most strange and wonderful part of this experience unfolded five days after the event.
On the morning of the surgery, as I lay in my hospital “gown” under the lights and surrounded by staff, just before they gave me the spinal, I prayed. “Guardian Angels, Spirit Guides, Ancestors, Mom, Dad, Joel, please watch over me during this procedure and afterwards. Thank You.”
Next thing I knew, it was over. I was wheeled into recovery, and then, after satisfying some simple motor skills, I was rolled into a hospital room, where I was quickly encouraged to get up, walk, eat, drink and pee. All of which I did between texting my kids and scheduling jewelry design appointments. Needless to say I was high on a fabulous cocktail of painkillers. So much so that when my son, Nick, fetched me from Pennsylvania Hospital that evening, we could have just as soon headed to Atlantic City instead of home. But home we went and a few days later a physical therapist came to check in on me. After a few obligatory questions he stopped, looked up from his laptop and asked, “Are you any relation to Martin Ragsdale?” My dad died over forty-four and a half years ago. “Yes”, I replied, “That’s his photo, right over there”.
“When I was in high school”, the therapist looked like he was dreaming back to the day he met my dad, “I had a summer job cutting grass with Middletown Township and I met your dad. He was a big guy, so nice. Your dad was a gentle giant.” Yes, 6’4″, 240, kind, thoughtful and wise, my father was ‘very tender, very sweet… wonderful!”
What are the chances, that some guy, who briefly met my dad in 1976 would end up in my living room in 2022, to help in my recovery and recall meeting him? I knew it immediately. I felt it unconditionally. I accepted it gratefully. My dad was letting me know that he has been watching, and will continue to watch, over me and my children.
This is not a knock to my mom. She did her best, but while she was Marion O’Connor Ragsdale, her best was tangled with some devastating pain and sorrow. Pain and sorrow that was handed down to her, and from her to me, and from me to my children Just like my hip replacement, the work of healing the family trauma requires a shit ton of faith, trust and surrender. I hope I have made a beautiful difference and I hope my children are open to the possibility of me, continuing to walk, or drive or dance with them when I am no longer on this side.
Thanks for walking with me,
Amy
Still creating singular jewelry
that embraces the maverick & attends to the guardian.
Beautiful. But totally makes me wonder about your mom! I have my own challenges w/mine (never knew my dad really). Want to feel she’s still protecting me. Sometimes I feel her “white light” around me. Who knows? Gives me comfort anyway.