Next Chapter

-A New Chapter Unfolds.

It’s early August. I’m still recovering from the disaster—physically weaker than I’d like to admit, occasionally foggy, and hiding indoors during the heat of the day.

And then it happens.

I hear a thud.

My 95-year-old mother has fallen on the front porch and fractured her skull.

She’s life-flighted to intensive care in Casper—my old stomping grounds. At first, I don’t expect her to survive. After a week, I begin to hope she will—but likely frail and bedridden.

Revived

She’s admitted to the same hospital where my ex-partner worked for decades—just a few blocks from where she now lives. We hadn’t spoken since our divorce five years ago.

And yet, here we are again.

As my mother slowly improves, my former partner and I begin spending time together. Carefully at first. Tenderly. We discover that we still care about each other.

-We hike together again.

We revisit old rock-hunting haunts—places where we once found so much joy side by side.

-Just out my backdoor again.

-Out where we once found it.

We gather stones for her rock garden. Dine out. Talk. Laugh. Simply enjoy each other’s company.

Meanwhile, my mother returns home under my care. My brother steps in now and then, giving me a day off to visit Casper.

Plans begin to form. Maybe we’ll try again. Maybe we’ll become a couple once more.

It feels so good. We’re happy. Euphoric, even.

And yes… I’ve learned to be cautious when I say this:

What could possibly go wrong? 😉

Two Months Later

Well. Just like that earlier euphoric ride into disaster—another one arrives.

It catches me completely off guard. Leaves me stunned. Emotionally shaken for weeks.

Needless to say, we are no longer making plans.

But unlike the first disaster, I’m nowhere near croaking. This time, I have options.

After our divorce, I rebuilt my life. And while it’s never easy, I know how to begin again. This time, though, it carries a quieter sadness.

My mother continues to improve. She can now be left alone for short stretches, which allows me to escape for a few hours.

And yes—I’ve returned to the motorcycle.

-Oh yeah, it’s back.

But only for short, hundred-mile dirt-road jaunts. The boundaries I once blasted past are firmly back in place. For the bike. And for that former partner.

I’ve learned something about euphoria. It doesn’t mean go faster. It doesn’t mean push harder. It doesn’t mean take more.

Sometimes it simply means pause. Breathe. And stay within the lines. ✨

Cheers,
D 🪨🔥