It was a box. A silly box. One of the many still littered around our brand new home. This was one of the plastic bin kind that come 5 to a pack at Costco. The day before it had been filled with socks needing to be matched. (Lots of socks.)
So it was an empty box, discarded in the dining room.
I don’t know how I didn’t see it when I entered the room yesterday. I don’t know how my leg bumped up against it. And I really don’t know how I lost my balance so disastrously.
I went down hard, butt first, arm set to catch my fall. But the box, yes, that little innocuous box, caught my arm instead. It took every last ab muscle I have to not crash down onto the arm that was now trapped between my plummeting body and the damn box.
I didn’t break my arm, but I’m not quite ready to laugh about how I ended up trapped in the box, feet and arms flailing, like a turtle turned onto its back. I had to be pried out of the thing.
I’m sore today. My arm hurts and I have a blossoming bruise all down my thigh. Worse, I feel shaken, like a homeowner feels shaken after a break-in.
I am tough. Through everything we’ve been through I’ve had my strength to rely on. It’s been the one constant. No matter what happened, I knew I could power through it.
Today I just feel weak and fragile.
It’s silly, I know. I fell and got banged up. Big whoop, happens to everyone at some point or another. In a day I might have a bruise or two, but I won’t be sore any more. I wonder though, how long it will take for me to stop being wary, to start moving with my usual confidence again.
It’s not a bad thing to be reminded, once in a while, that we’re not as invincible as we’d like to believe. It would be nice however, if it didn’t come with bruises, sore muscles, and a good dose of ridicule.