“No,” I say, after you offer help. “I can manage.”
But I cannot. The pain singes and lances through my body like a dragon.
“I will manage,” I seethe, and power through typing my out-of-office automated email reply.
But I fail. I cannot finish the email.
I remember the last bike ride we did together before this all unraveled. How it all feels like a memory now.
Tears fall down.
Your arms wrap me, a kiss melts my anger.
Anger at myself that now I cannot.
Cannot do the things I think I need.
Need to do. Need to finish.
Finish before tomorrow.
Tomorrow that ought to be done today but.
But I no longer have the strength to pull.
Pull tomorrow in like I used to.
To help me feel whole and filled.
Filled with tasks and things-to-do.
Things-to-do to fill an inside-hole.
A hole that now invites me to step into the scary wildness of the vast expanse of time as a grand, heroic act of courage and trust.
Courage- for I’m learning, that to be overwhelmed by time and space without the distractions of work and media and things to do, and still stand, is a wild act of valor.
Trust, because to be consumed by the uncertainty of what lies ahead, and still stand, is an act of audacious surrender.
Tears stream down and you hold me up.
I cannot stand being less than my function.
But your embrace, it tells me I am whole.
That I am not the sum of what I can or cannot do.
That even with the loss of things I love- my work and writing and sports, all innervated by the very same nerve running from my neck in my spine to my fingers,
I weigh the same,
in my Belovedness
And to Him.
Thank you 💕💍
*Thank you to those of you who have reached out, especially to meet in person. The days feel, at times, long as I await surgery date. There are high and low points depending on the pain that waxes and wanes. Every appointment is a relief, a release of thanksgiving breathed into air. 💛