I was leaning over the rail of the crib looking at small farm animals laying out on the floor. It was a cement floor. I looked at the hardness of the floor. I knew it to be hard. I looked at the small animals: a cow, a horse, a small simulation of a fence. I looked at it as if I was a being far detached from God’s world.
I fell, of course, like I knew I would.
I knew I could have done nothing to prevent it, yet the feeling of having missed a step came––just like last time. I knew once I fell that I could do absolutely nothing to change the chain of events that were to follow. I knew the smell of metallic blood followed by the smell of rubbing alcohol. I knew the pain, the ringing of ears, the wet face, the searing blacking out pain, the coming of the darkness. I knew the bright brilliant white light that was going to invade my head and my dreams and my life.
I knew this as I was falling to the harsh, hard reality of the cement on the floor of the small room in the small house of a very, very small country.