Last year, when I was beginning to recover from my ruptured disk, and was feeling, in general, rather sorry for myself, I received a phone call informing me that Hamish had fallen over and broken his spine. Crushed it. Really high up. Any higher and he’d be on a respirator till the end of his days. Or possibly even ending his days.
Hamish has always been a bit of a dare devil, a risk taker. If someone had called to tell me that Hamish had an accident bungee jumping off a motorcycle that was jumping over a burning pit, I wouldn’t have been too surprised. But he was playing cricket in the front yard with his son after picking him up from school. And he’ll never walk again.
Nothing like a story like that to kick you out of a self pity jag.
That was November. In that time I’ve been to see him about 4 times, and I feel like a completely shite friend. Utterly selfish and crap. The optimist in me knows that my life has been no picnic (for reasons that don’t get discussed much on the blog), but the rest of me feels that i have let Hamish down, that I should have been there for him and Heather more. I can tell myself that it’s ok, but I know that I am not OK with the sort of friend I have been, and it’s pointless to pretend.
A few months ago I knitted a moss stitch square of left over cotton from some baby hats, and gave it to him for a facial that Simone was going to do for him. Tonight he mentioned that the knitted washcloth was great for his skin (I figured that if he only has sensation in his head and shoulders, he might as well have a wash cloth that felt great). He even asked me to knit a few more. So I’ll do that. I may not always be there, but I can show my regard for him in a small way.
More washcloths coming up.
Disco Knitter 