She gave me life, then saved it, a freak accident–nicked artery when I was eight. I can still see the blood shooting out from my wrist. No pain. I just wanted to go to sleep. I’d been running in the house–slid on the newly waxed kitchen floor–put out my right arm out to stop. Crashed through a plate glass window–that was okay, but when I pulled my arm back, it caught a jagged piece of glass…

My mom was a nurse, a WWII hero who handled the worst battle casualties cases at naval hospital. She didn’t panic when she saw the flood of blood from my arm. I remember her tying something white around my wrist, then slapping my face gently, telling me to stay awake. A neighbor rushed us to the emergency room–no waiting.

I had severed a nerve in my wrist–that required months of shock treatment and daily grip exercise before I was able to move my fingers. Mom shepherded me through this routine.

She has always been my hero, every day, not just on Mother’s Day.

Published by 67steffen

My labels: grandfather, father, veteran, writer, poet, photographer and dreamer in pursuit of the meaning of life. Getting close, although I'm running out of time--probably why I'm so close.

One thought on “Mom…

  1. No matter how many times you tell that story, it brings tears to my eyes. I am glad you have these memories to share.


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