The One Where Blake Makes a Mistake

From the desk of the editor of Blakegotfat:

To Whom It May Concern,

Sorry to have done the vague posting to y'all this week. I went to St. Louis and had a friend have a very scary life threatening situation happen and I had to coordinate care until the family could arrive. My blog post were the reflection of that and I should have been more clear. Please accept my apology and thank you for your concern.

Let's pretend this never happened? 

XOXO, 

Blake 

PS. My personal media assistant wants me to tell you that she will vet my post from now on to make sure this doesn't happen again. 

P.P.S To whoever left me cookies you are the best. 

P.P.P.S I hope they were for me. Otherwise I owe my neighbors an apology. 

P.P.P.P.s Dear neighbors, I owe you an apology for eating your visiting teaching cookies. In my defense it said We love you and hope you are okay! 

Heavenly Day

Ogden May 24th. 

Sitting at my desk. 

The phone buzzes.

a text appears. 

         I'm okay. 

Heavenly day indeed. 

Before It Breaks

(St. Louis. Taken from the roof of St. Mary's. Photo credit goes to well they know who they are.)

Ogden Monday May 22nd. 

"I'm alright don't I always seem to be aren't I swinging from the stars don't I wear them on my sleeve..."-Brandi Carlie Before it Breaks. 

It's morning. 

I'm wearing my work armor. Badge blue checkered shirt. Grey cords. Brown Doc. Martins. 

"How are you?"

    

"What's going on?" 

     

"You look tired."

"How was St. Louis?"

"Please tell us the story." 

       I can't tell you the story. I can't share it because I'm drowning in all the details. I can't tell you because I need to protect the story. I can't open my mouth and tell you the story because when I start I don't know if I can stop. 

Sitting.Waiting in the dark halls of St. Mary's Hospital. The Arch in the rain. Wondering if I will ever get home. 

"Why are you at work? You look exhausted." 

Because I have to return to routine.In routine there is safety. In routine you don't have to answer the same questions over and over combing through the details. Wondering was it truly gnocchi you ate? Or was it the baked spaghetti? Did I have the chocolate cake or the red velvet?" What you ate for breakfast. Sabrina. You saying they needed find a way to have Aubrey Hepburn and Harrison Ford to create the best movie. Or the last minute thought I need to eat something before the ambulance came. Where my best intentions good enough? 

In routine there is safety. In routine there is peace. In routine my brain doesn't go over the last seventy two hours. If I hadn't remembered to ask. You would have been dead by now. 

Drowning in all the details. Drowning in all the what ifs. 

"How are you?" 

Great! And you? 

Where Do I Go From Here?

Salt Lake City to Ogden May 23rd 12 am. 

The plane lands. 

I deplane. Check for my belongings. 

Stand in line for my bag. 

People cheer over the basketball game. No CNN for once on the TV's. 

When I was flying time stood still.No phone. No internet. No contact. No updates. 

Then the questions come in rapid succession now that I'm standing here at my car. 

What's going to happen? 

I don't know.

Will there be changes?

I hope so. 

Will there be trouble? 

I don't know. 

What going to happen once I'm here? 

I don't know. 

Where do I go from here now that we are 1,309 miles apart? 

I don't know. 

Will there be time for dreaming when this nightmare is over? 

I don't know. 

What happens when I can't hold on?

What happens when tomorrow comes and there is nothing I can do? 

Just pull chair out and adjust the pen. Just write. 

What's going to happen?

I don't know. 

But whatever happens here I go. 

What's going to happen? 

Where do I go from here? 

Keep Breathing

St. Louis Missouri Saturday May 20th and Sunday May 21st. 

Mormons don't believe in rosaries and repeated prayers. Yet in this moment I have two bamboo needles and move the stitches back from needle to the other. Knit. Purl. Knit. Purl. Knit. each stitch becomes a prayer. 

Knit: Stay alive. 

Purl: Stay here. 

Whoosh. Whomp. Goes the breathing machine. 

Purl: Keep breathing. 

Knit: Stay alive.  

A nurse comes in to check the blood sugar every hour. 132 from 937 the nurse comments much more manageable. 

Knit: I cannot cry. Must be strong. 

Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 

The hours go by so fast and slow. Waiting for the grown up to to show up and tell me it's going to be okay. We are alone in a state where we know no one. 

Knit: How will I get you home? 

Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 

Sitting out staring at the St. Louis Arch. The gateway to the west. 

Knit: If I could get you to the Arch I can get you home. 

Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive.  

Another nurse asks if I need anything. I need you to wake up and tell me you are okay. 

Knit: All I know is that I'm breathing. 

Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 

I find myself breathing in time with the breathing machine. As if each breath we breathe in tandem will somehow help you heal. 

Knit: The priest stops by to offer a blessing. I have no oil to give you one. I figure the lord will understand. 

Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 

Your body twitches. Your face grimaces in pain. Just rest.

Another row. As if I keep knitting I can keep your story alive. 

Knit: The light fades. The Arch lights up showing the way home. 

Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 

I find myself pulling the stitches apart in me to keep you whole. 

Knit: All I can do is keep breathing. 

Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 

The door behind me opens. 

The grown up appears. The row is paused between two needles. At any moment the whole piece could unravel. 

Knit: I thought calling the grown ups and telling them you are here was the worst thing I had to do. Seeing the grown up face absorb all the details. All the tubing all the cables crossing and tangled to keep you alive. 

Purl: Keep breathing. Stay alive. 

The grown up whispers I'm here. 

The needles stop moving the stitches they are all on one needle. Time to pack them away. Prayers will have to be said on the inside. The conversation is short. 

The doctor appears. The doctors explains. The grown up takes in all the details. 

I stay for forty-five minutes longer sitting in the silence. The occasional whoomp. whosh. 

My phone buzzes. It's time to go. I have to go. The grown up understands. I say the words I'm sorry. Keep me posted. 

I walk down the hall to the elevator. 

Knit. 

Purl.

Knit. 

Purl. 

Waiting.