Bob's Fingers

Mum called on Saturday night.

"I have some news to tell you. It's not very pleasant."

My heart sank. Dear God, I thought. Not Dad.

"It's about Helen's Bob," she said. "He's had an accident."

I have a sister, Ms J. Her name is Helen. She's the sister who battled breast cancer a couple of years ago. Remember? She lost the battle, but ultimately won the war. She's alive and well and back to working full time as a neo-natal nurse. Her boyfriend, Bob, was beside her all the way, encouraging, supporting, listening. Bob's a Christian man, Ms J. I'll wager he did a lot of praying too.

Last Saturday afternoon, Bob was using a hydraulic log splitter to split firewood. He owns and operates a Bed and Breakfast facility at his lovely Victorian home a hundred miles northwest of here. Somehow, his hand was caught by the sharpened wedge of the splitter and three fingers were severed, completely. The fourth finger was badly mangled. He was alone at the time.

Apparently, he managed to recover the digits and drove himself to a local hospital. They hadn't the specialised equipment and surgeons there, so he was taken to Toronto where he underwent thirteen hours of surgery. One finger appears to have positive blood circulation. The prognosis for the others is uncertain at this time.

Bob is a good man, Ms Journal. Helen loves him deeply. We all care very much for him. Physically, he's a big man, well over six feet tall, and powerful. Mid-fifties, I suppose. And when I hug him, I can scarcely put my arms around him. His heart is the biggest of all. Bob is both generous, and selfless. I've thought of him at least twenty times today. Colleen and I plan to visit Bob in hospital tomorrow. He faces a long and painful recovery.

It's a remarkable Truth, Ms J, that one second of inattention can lead to a Lifetime of regret.

Think of him today. Wish him well.

We love you, Bob!

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