socks

I spent the day at an English Department retreat which was focused on communication; we were asked to reflect on a challenging experience in which communication, or the lack thereof, played a part. Then, naturally, we were asked to write for awhile. Here is what I wrote:

While loading Dad for Life Flight I noticed his feet sticking out of the bear-hugger device used to stabilize his body temp.
"Is the helicopter cold?" I ask.
"Yes."
"He needs socks - his feet are always cold."
Blank stares.
"Can't we get some socks?"
Socks are fetched and I start to put them on. Seven to eight paramedics and nurses watch. I get one sock on. I pull a bit of ivy out from between his toes. I am clumsy as I put them on as Dad doesn't point his toes to help me. I get the second sock on and pat his toes. "There, his feet won't be cold."
They are all gazing at me.

Then I realize what they all realized at the start. What they had been not saying while the socks were fetched, while they had watched me fumble with putting the socks on. What I was still trying to not know. He's paralyzed. It doesn't matter if his feet are cold. He'll never feel his cold feet again.

paraplegia, grief