Aug 17: Jesse Morales goes Home

http://www.jessemoralesjourney.blogspot.com/

Wallace update

As a result of the tremendous outpouring of concern and kindness since I first asked our global community to pray for my brother, I have decided to send the following auto-response update:

Thank you for your kind thoughts and prayers. We are so thankful Wallace is mobile; there is no spinal or brain damage, although his facial injuries remain serious (both eyes and one ear are being monitored). Wal will see a maxo-facial surgeon (through one eye at a time) to discuss possible surgery on his crushed cheekbone(s).

I spoke to Wallace on Tuesday morning and he sounded ... wonderful! He was his old self, impatient to get on with life. My mom and sister have kept me updated daily and I spoke to my sister-in-law a minute ago; she’s looking forward to her hubby’s homecoming and hopes he’ll rest, hard-headed as he is (thankfully). Although Wal can’t see properly, he plans to be back at work as soon as possible. Imagine.

He was able to hold his baby girl, a highlight during these dark days, and many friends and relatives have visited him in hospital near Pretoria. Thank you all.

Although the road to full recovery is a long one, Wal is alive and we remain thankful that Chantal and baby Tyla Mari were not in the Jeep with him when it flipped over on our cousin’s farm road. Yesterday I saw photos of the Jeep’s shattered window and open sun roof, and Mari also sent photos of Wallace’s black ’n’ blue but beloved face. I am weeping as I type this, and remain in constant awe that my brother is alive. (I called his cell phone earlier simply to hear his voice.)

Personally, I am grateful for the compassion and care shown by our worldwide community this past weekend. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart, on behalf of my family. I have no doubt that Wallace’s life was spared by God, and I am humbled by our Creator’s grace and mercy.



Tyla Mari was delighted to see her daddy after his accident.

Wallace goes through the roof

On the weekend my brother, Wallace Leach, was in a serious car accident, fracturing his skull and sustaining what we all thought were life-threatening injuries. His Jeep flipped after hitting a pothole on our cousin’s farm and Wal went through the open sunroof. When Bennie found him he did not think he was alive. He was taken by ambulance to hospital and moved to ICU; surgery seemed likely.

However, by today (Tues) he was sufficiently stable to be transferred from ICU to a normal ward. Hallelujah! No operations have been necessary (yet). We are so thankful there is no apparent spinal or brain damage, although his other injuries remain serious. There doesn’t appear to be further swelling on Wal’s brain, although there’s still some bleeding. He is talking and moving (or rather, fighting—a good sign), and even asked for wine gums, a mutual family favourite.

Update to follow.

Eric the Half-a-Bee

P.S. Here’s a ditty by Monty Python and John Cleese about Eric the Half-a-Bee to cheer one and all:

(I need to check this link and will temporarily delete it; return later or google YouTube.)

Willow Creek Leadership Summit

Coming soon to a blog post near you.

Making a bee-line

P.S. I am attaching Mary Anna Harbeck’s beautiful bee photo for your comfort and enjoyment. (See earlier post about "the wrong sort of bees.)

The wasp is added simply to attract sympathy.

Part ii: Robin goes south

I have learned that Robin’s journey is his own; I am not to take it personally when he slips away at times; it is not about me. My spouse reminds me that he is irrational during these days of darkness and that I need to accept his illness without trying to “fix” him. I am trying (very trying).

But—believe it or not—I am also learning to embrace the journey, where once I endured it. I have come to see these bouts of blue as a means to grow, to settle my soul, deepen my roots, be more aware of our daily—hourly!—dependence on God.

I am blessed to be walking this often rocky road—sometimes crawling, sometimes limping—but edging forward, one faltering step at a time. We are not alone, and I thank God for our hands-on Cochrane and Calgary community of kindness, and for friends far and near.

I am learning what it means to be covenant-bound, to care beyond the borders of comfort and ease. I am s-l-o-w-l-y learning to reach out and touch Robin’s life with a love greater than my own. (It’s taken long enough, eh?) My frail attempts do little to help—although frequent foot rubs and back massages do seem to help Robin fall asleep.

I also believe that I need to be (mentally) healthy in order to support my mate, and to that end I continue to live a full and rich life, seeking out life-giving friends and spending much time refuelling in solitude and silence.

Thankfully, we have dear friends (and neighbours-who-now-live-in-Pincher-Creek) who provided sanctuary when Robin most needed it. He stayed for a few days and returned home replenished in body and soul to continue his brave journey.

I am learning to say no more often so as to have the energy to say yes where necessary.

That’s my story. My spouse walks as though through molasses. His story does not mirror my own, and all I can do is walk alongside him—sometimes moving ahead or bringing up the rear, prodding him to action when necessary. And always, always praying, often without words.

In Mark Cohn’s “True Companions” one line reads, “When the years have done irreparable harm, I can see us walking slowly arm in arm.”

Please think of our family in the coming days. I know Robin is a private a person from a stoic family; I also know that writers need to tell their own story. This is mine, and I’m sticking to it.