Quiet Night in Rehab

The quiet of the city

In the quiet of the night, the only sound is the cars passing by tires hissing on wet pavement. With the idiot box muted it is somewhat odd how quiet the city can be. No voices breaking the still of the coming darkness, too wet and unpleasant for foot traffic and even if there was it is not the kind of weather one chats in. You put your head down and get to where you are going without much chit chat. Continue reading “Quiet Night in Rehab”

Waking up

I originally wrote this in my notebook while in the Nova Scotia Rehab Centre, sometime around September or October of 1996. Once I learned how to get myself out of bed and into my wheelchair, I spent a lot of time passing the quiet hours at my bedside desk writing. Letters home to family, entries into an impromptu diary, poems (such as they are) all in an attempt to wrap my head around what had happened, what was happened and might yet happen.

Waking Up

Suddenly, it was like somebody switched on the light from a completely dark and silent room. He could only stare in wide eyed wonderment as he was plunged into light and noise and motion. Actual terror overtook him as he realized the man leaning over to speak to him was wearing a flight helmet.

Continue reading “Waking up”