At some point, you just move forward
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Unseen Hands

by Ellen Moore

Over iced tea, we called Frank from Bobbi’s kitchen table. Instead of “Hello,” he answered with “So, you want to buy a house, eh? Put Charla on the line, please.”
“No, no objections whatsoever. It’s perfect for you both. Much, much, much better than the other house.” I let her do all the talking.
My study would be next to the kitchen, Frank’s would be at the end of a long hallway, out of the commotion of things, but next to the woods. We could wave to each other from his-and-her decks, and this house would be much bigger than our tiny New York house.
No freeways: just trees, a creek, silence, and finally room enough for our multitudes of books. I imagined saying to visitors, “Now this is the library, and this is the library, and this is the library.”
“Fine, write the contract.”
Within a few days, all transactions were completed and papers signed. We put our New York house up for sale, and within a month, the movers would come to pack everything.

I crawled home to Frank, making the painful navigations through the airport and into the car as he picked me up. Straight to bed, and there I stayed. Nothing on my mind but pain and fatigue and pain. 

My knees seemed permanently bent, and I couldn’t straighten them out. The medications didn’t even touch the pain, and I couldn’t get comfortable anywhere.

Frank was worried. The doctor seemed non-committal, and I was beginning to wonder if I was dealing with something chronic.

Just getting from bed to bathroom was a horrendous affair with the walker and Frank steadying me. He was kind to bring me everything I needed, but how would I ever sort, toss, pack, and get ready for the move?

I hoped the nightmare was temporary, but we were both beginning to wonder. Maybe by the time the movers arrived I’d be up and pain free. In the meanwhile, all I could do was make phone calls from bed, read, and nap.

We kept reminding ourselves what Joseph Campbell had said: If you follow your bliss, there will be those invisible hands opening doors for you that you never knew existed. 

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