This Fragile Grief Journey Continues

It's been almost a month since I packed up and moved from our home to my new home.   The beginning of my story is much happier...

Sam and I were married 32 years ago in a small restaurant by the Fox River in Geneva, Illinois.  All my friends were there and Sam's parents came.  I was terrified!  Sam was calm, as always, and I knew the moment I saw him that he was the one!

We worked through immigration and lived  the first seven months of our marriage apart:  he in Vancouver, Melissa and I in Geneva, Illinois.  Eventually we packed a moving van and our new family moved to North Vancouver where Sam's mom, dad, sister and cousins helped us unpack and settle into a small co-op apartment.  It was beyond frightening moving away from my job, friends and familiar surroundings.  It's almost as if history is repeating itself with moving away from our home to this new place I plan to call home.  Fast forward to today...

I've been asked by friends how things are going and it's time for an update.  For the past couple of weeks I've wanted to update my blog, but to be honest, it's been difficult to put into words what I'm feeling.  I want to be positive; to encourage others who are facing difficult circumstances.  I want to appear "together" and happy and ready to march into the future.  But that's not the truth.  Five weeks ago on September 15 -- one week before moving day -- I had a stroke, and I am still suffering with the effects of that day.  My left side is numb, painful and I have spatial issues with my left arm, walking issues with my left leg, no stamina, difficulty holding things with my left hand and psychologically I feel blindsided by this event.  I want to proclaim that I'm getting better and I'm settling in, but the truth is I am not regaining feeling in my left side and I feel as if I'm living in an air bnb, waiting until the vacation is over and I can go "home."  I dream about "home."  I haven't rearranged closets and straightened shelves, which is how I usually conduct my life.  Why tidy up when I will be packing up to go home soon.....at least that is my current somewhat absurd thought pattern.   

My sister died a few weeks ago after a short time in hospice.  Up until a week before she died, I was convinced she would rally and live.  Her death sent me into shock.  I want to say I am brave and things are okay, but all of my biological family I was raised with are gone as well as my dear Sam.  Gone....within 18 months.  The truth is....I am in grief.  I am sad.  My doctor asked me about taking anti-depressants but I'm not depressed.  I am sad.  Why do we feel admitting feelings of grief is wrong or abnormal and must be suppressed by medication.  If more of us were allowed to let sorrow overflow, even at inconvenient moments, life would be filled with individuals who aren't drugged out of grief but allowed to heal organically and naturally.....the way Sam practiced healthcare, letting the body and spirit heal on their own time schedule.

So now as I work on healing, or let it happen naturally, I proclaim loudly that it's okay to be broken.  My body is broken right now along with my heart but there's no shame in a physical limp or in embracing a broken heart.  The greatest lessons we learn come from times of sorrow and grief.  There is deep wisdom and a sense of freedom in acknowledging brokenness and vulnerability in difficult times.  Not only have I experienced this intimacy of brokenness, I have learned so much about myself:  I am not defined by my physical body;  What others say about me is not who I am.  As hard as I work at the gym each day rehabbing my body, I spend time in quiet prayer working to restore my soul....the woman I know I am....the woman I used to be, happy,  detail oriented, active and so many more labels I can't seem to find lately.  As I look around....my brain immediately recycles the thought:  Who stole my life?  What happened?  I feel as if I'm floating over my body looking down at someone living my life, except it isn't my life.  It looks like me but it's a life I don't recognize. 

There is no way to block the kind of pain I feel.  Not pills, not shopping, overeating, coffee, anger...nothing.  To live an abundant life means you must walk through pain and brokenness and to be patient.  I do not pretend I am not in pain.  It's a relief to speak my truth and to know others are praying for me and for our family.  My kids lost their dad, their grandparents, their aunt.  They are watching me go through physical difficulties.  We all are struggling but walking through brokenness is the beginning and as we walk through, grace and abundance appear to light this rocky path we walk.   

I am grateful for everyone who encourages and prays for our family.  We all get a container of time...let's not waste a day. 

Though I have fallen, I will rise.

Though I sit in darkness,

    the Lord will be my light.

--Micah 7:8