Almost a decade ago I was part of a team that introduced a new front-end and pagination system to the Dallas Morning News newsroom. We trained hundreds of journalists on the new software. Some folks had never even held a computer mouse before.
Our team knew that change was difficult for many employees. Part of our job was handling the emotions of the transition. I was good at this job.
The past year and a half has brought drastic change to the Damm family. The impetus for the change -- a few rogue cells that multiplied and created the Damm Spot -- is awful. But for the most part, I think we've handled the resulting transitions well. We keep looking for and celebrating the silver linings.
Steve has been able to spend more time with Cooper and Katie, as he's not spending 10 or more hours a week commuting to and from work. Instead, we drive him as a family to work or, more recently, he works from home, surrounded by more love and joy than we could hope for.
We've been showered with good wishes, gifts, prayers, visits and more from the most amazing support group. At least once a day a friend or acquaintance marvels at how good you all are, how blessed we are. It is so true.
We are reminded hourly of what matters most, and most of the time we try to honor those priorities.
There are changes, though, that catch me off guard and break my heart more than I anticipated.
When Steve comes home from physical rehab, he'll need a hospital bed for safety and ease of movement. He probably needed one weeks ago, but his fall accentuated the acute need. The Zale Lipshy social worker is helping us secure one.
To get ready for the new bed, today the old bed -- the one we chose for the first home we bought, in 1998 -- was packed away. Uncle Greg and friend Jeff arrived early this morning to dismantle our bed and an antique dresser and move them to a nearby storage unit. We also moved a cabinet from the bedroom into the dining room.
A twin bed for me is in our room now, and a big open space in the middle waits for Steve's new hospital bed.
I think that I've cried more over this change than anything since Steve's diagnosis.
The change is so obvious and symbolic. I just didn't expect it to hit me so hard.
Cooper and Katie have found a silver lining already. They love the temporary open floor space and abundance of pillows laying about.
I trust that in time I'll handle this change better, too. Steve's safety and comfort are most important, and I expect my emotions will catch up with that reason soon enough.
I hesitated sharing all this because I don't want to monopolize the storyline here or worry folks needlessly. But I also want to portray our lives as they are.
This change and so many others are certainly made smoother by you, our dear friends and family.
*****
Steve looked great when we visited with him this afternoon. The physical and occupational therapists pushed him through rigorous exercises, and he was deservedly tired.
He sounds more winded today than he has recently -- maybe because of all the activity? He's on oxygen almost all the time.
He'll have Sunday off from all therapy. The whole Damm family will meet on his floor for lunch to celebrate Mother's Day and Betty's birthday. We'll try to not be too rowdy!
