A note from Emily

Why we won't be publishing this week.

My mom broke her hip on Thursday. She was taking our golden retriever, Mason, out for a walk, and her foot got caught in a gap between the uneven stone walkway to the house. At that same moment, Mason pulled on the leash, and down she went. She had emergency total hip replacement surgery that day. 

The incident was, unfortunately, just the latest in a series of medical maladies that have plagued my parents these last few months. The most relevant is that my father also took a fall this November and tore his rotator cuff. It happened while we were playing ping pong at my aunt’s 90th birthday party; I took a shot toward the back corner, he lunged, and down he went. (Important: at the time of the fall, dad was winning by a significant margin).

I don’t tell you any of this to solicit worry. Everything is OK, and we are very lucky! Though it’s probably going to take a long while, my mom is expected to fully re-gain her independence. And my dad’s mobility has been slowly but steadily improving since he began physical therapy last month. He’s been able to go back to work.

There are two reasons I’m telling you this: 1) To explain why we haven’t published in the last few days, and 2) To explain why we won’t be publishing this week. Turns out, there’s a lot to do when a loved one breaks a hip—and to do those things, it’s really useful to have two fully-working arms and a job that doesn’t require you to be there in-person. The only person in my family with both of those things is me.

So this week, I’ll be in New York getting the house ready for my mom’s return from the hospital, and learning everything I can about how to be the best caretaker I can possibly be. 

Mom and dad a few years back (What, you think I’m sharing hospital pics?? Hell no!)

I’ll also, very sadly, be preparing everything for our good boy Mason to join a new family. That’s probably been the most difficult reality to accept. Mason is an 80-pound ball of love and energy; he simply needs more exercise and attention than we can give him right now. The only silver lining is that I think we’ve already found him a home where he’ll be really happy. (And visiting rights are, of course, included).

I’m not going to lie: This whole thing has been hard. The coming months will probably be hard, too. I don’t know what recovery will look like, how long it will take, or when I’m going to be able to go home to D.C. There are a lot of uncertainties and unknowns ahead.

But amid this huge bummer, I can also see blessings. We’re alive. We have each other. We have a path to recovery. I personally feel resilient enough to help pave that path, as I have systems in place—both personally and professionally—that ensure I have the capacity to help. I could not have said that two years ago.

There’s a climate change metaphor in that last paragraph. In a previous life, I would have spent hours tweaking a sentence that wrapped it up perfectly in a neat and tidy bow. But it’s been a long day, the sun is setting, and Mason is whining because he wants to go for a walk. So I’m just going to take him, and save that energy for next week.

See you then.