Saturday morning, my husband Rick and I were having our porch party, and I sensed God’s gentle voice inside my heart.
Slow down. Look around you. Praise Me.
But I didn’t do it.
I ignored a dogwood tree in full bloom.
The next night, the strangest thing happened.
When it did, I had a feeling everything around me was about to change, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.
Rick took a shower and came into our bedroom. His hair was wet, and he had a towel wrapped around his waist. “Did I just take a shower?”
“Of course. Why’re you asking me?”
“I’m not sure. I can’t remember.”
“Are you okay?”
“I had a weird dream. Did I just take a nap?”
Had he fallen and hit his head?
I checked the bathroom. No blood.
He paced from the kitchen to the den like he was lost. Something was terribly wrong.
I felt numb–scared–refused to believe what might be happening.
I asked him to sit down. “Do you feel okay? You look confused. Can you tell me today’s date?”
I stopped breathing.
“I don’t know.”
“Who’s the president?”
Maybe he’s playing an April Fool’s joke.
“Isn’t it Carter? George Bush?”
I felt everything inside me sink.
Oh, Dear Lord…
I grabbed the flashlight to check his pupils, but my hands were shaking. I couldn’t find the off/on switch. “Can you turn this on?”
If you can’t, I’m calling 911.
He did and handed it back to me.
His pupils responded to light. Blood pressure, 132/94. A little high but not stroke level.
“We’re going to the hospital,” I said. “Get dressed.”
I called our 24-year-old son who was at his fiance’s house. “Thomas, come home. We’re taking your dad to the hospital.”
At the ER, the nurse got us back quickly.
“Mr. Garmon, what year is it?” the doctor said.
“I’m not sure.”
“Take a guess,” the doctor said.
“Is it 2016?”
I shouldn’t be relieved that my husband knows what year it is.
“What month is this?” the doctor said.
“I don’t know.”
“Take a guess.”
“We’re running an MRI and CT scan, check your carotid arteries, do an echo…”
Is this for real? Am I dreaming?
I spent the night at the hospital. Neither one of us slept. All during the night, he caught me watching him.
Just before the sun came up, I crawled into bed with him.
In less than twenty-four hours, his test results came back.
Everything was normal.
The doctors think he experienced something called Transient Global Amnesia. It’s very peculiar. You’ll have to read about it.
Basically, it means he lost several hours of his life. He’ll never remember what happened.
He’s supposed to slow down. Reduce stress. Prioritize his life.
Sounded like a wake-up call for him.
For me too–to pay attention to what matters most.
At our next porch party, I picked up Jesus Calling to read the devotional. ”What’s today’s date? I’ve lost track…” I looked at him.
A tiny wave of fear came over me.
He smiled. “April the fifth.”
I thanked God for another day to be with the man I love.
The gift of another morning.
Another porch party.
I thought about my people. Family. Friends.
The dogwood tree beside our porch.
I broke off a branch and brought it inside.
Lord, another day to live and love. Thank You. I love You.
Have you ever been reminded of what matters most? It’s not usually a painless process, is it? Click to tweet.