Here I am again and now I have this gripping saga about life in a rehab facility. Believe me, you don’t want to miss any portion of this engrossing, enthralling story just brimming with excitement, glory and greatness!

I am desperately missing my time with the great grandchildren. I so wanted to see them play in the water and the sand. I have been sent pictures though. Coley is a great sand-eater. He was pushing a fine fistful into his mouth when one picture was taken. Ellie and Kenny were not one bit afraid of the water and ran out to jump off the dock. How I wish I could have seen it! Ellie cried when she had to go home. She says she wants to be a Canadian. That’s my Ellie!

I think these next series of “coffees” will have to be experiences in rehab or those coming out of bad situations and overcoming. Perhaps I can bring you stories of others and their struggles. Many people’s are much worse than mine. I have seen that.

Some of my readers live in this area. I can recommend this place because of the personnel. For the most part they are caring people. They are in this business because they want to help. Some aren’t in it for that, but I can guarantee they are not here for great income. It is not a fancy luxurious spa either. So don’t come for that . The therapy is fantastic. I see several therapists who are very aggressive. They get along well, have a cheerful and playful attitude, and push me to do as much as I can and to progress every day. If you just feel lousy and want to quit or wait another day, they push for continuation and for reaching the goal. “Just one more time” is a good saying. Therapy in general is fun with lots of joking and laughter. If you could only see me doing my thing. Try letting your imagination go wild here. I can’t wear my usual wardrobe because my right leg is encased in a royal blue cast about 12 inches in diameter. Therefore,, no pants will fit over it. I wear a flowing red, tie-dyed Mumu. I have to learn to stand on one foot. No weight is allowed on the other. So here I am, looking like a giant flamingo, red feathers of my Mumu skirts swirling madly around my walker. I cling to it with one hand as I bat desperately at the balloons coming my way. My cruel therapist throws them at me fifty per minute. Picture this scene topped by the crest of white hair spiked to a fare-thee-well because I haven’t had a shampoo for a week. Some sight, huh? Title of this scene, “Wounded Flamingo, pray for her!”

So many people here make me feel so sad. I hate it that some of us have to lose all our faculties and are still alive. I pray fervently that I will never have to be put out in the hall to sit vacantly and drool. God bless those that are. I think that may be at least part of why I am here. I just have to pray for those whom God loves just as much as He loves me. Nothing else seems to be required. I smile and there is no response nor is there a reaction to speech. God just wants me to pray. Teach me, Lord, how powerful prayer is and why I should never say, “All I can do is pray.”

Life has taken on new meaning here. My friends and family have been so faithful to come visit. “What is God teaching me through this?” I’m not sure yet but I wlll keep trying to find out and hoping you are finding my wanderings of some interest.

I love you all and enjoy sharing with you, Irma Jane Fritz-Zager