I laid awake far past a wise hour for me to go to bed. I knew I would pay for it the next day, when I would barely be able to function. The piper had to be paid sometime, but for now, my mind didn't seem to care about that. The only thing it could focus on was the tumult of thoughts rolling over and over, coming in rapid succession like waves crashing on the sand. Relentless. I felt a fat, lone tear make its way down the side of my cheek and find its way into my hair. I rolled over on my side and was grateful once again that my husband was out cold next to me.
I still couldn't wrap my mind around the fact that the person I was closest to in this whole world, the one I knew inside and out and had grown with for longer than I could remember was gone. I ran over and over in my mind the vision of her youthful energy. It seemed as if she never had to take a break. Her body had been strong, capable of feats of endurance and strength. She was the one that had made life fun and easy. It just didn't seem possible that I had lost her.
Lost her.
She had passed relatively quietly, with only her closest confidants ever knowing that she was truly gone. There was never a funeral or memorial, no celebration of the full life she had lived. One day she was here, and the next day she was just....gone.
Gone.
The single tear gave way to a constant stream that blurred my vision. It was 9 months since I had lost her, and I still struggled on a daily basis to come to terms with the void. When others asked me about her, it was as if they expected her to be miraculously resurrected. They would ask with a sincere smile and heartfelt interest, and I had to practice all my restraint not to dive into a sarcastic soliloquy about how she was never coming back. But that wouldn't do. That was misguided frustration, too much information, and just a sign of the grief that pulled on me like quicksand, always threatening to pull me under.
Grief.
It's a feeling I know well. I can recognize it coming from a mile away. In fact, it's almost like an old friend. Not the kind of friend who's presence you enjoy, but the kind that is annoying as hell, but you are so used to her that things don't seem normal if she isn't around. I often find myself looking over my shoulder, just waiting for her to show up again.
It's the feeling I have had ever since I sat in that doctor's office and they told me I had a "mass" in my spinal cord. The feeling intensified when I awoke from my surgery and realized that I had severe pain and limitations I would have to work to overcome. It continued to climb like a roller coaster heading for the top of a steep hill before it plummets as I realized over the last couple of months that I had peaked. I had reached the point where I was told that I shouldn't expect many more improvements, and to just consider myself lucky if I saw any more.
I wanted to scream, "But wait! I'm not better yet! The old me is still gone! This can't be right!" She is still gone. It's like I went out for a walk one day and simply lost her. I miss her with an ache in my stomach when I think of her strong body and all I can feel is intense pain in my arms, shoulders, and neck all of the time. I miss her when I think of the life sentence of medications I am on just so I can feel "ok". I mourn for her each day I wake up feeling like someone has beaten me with a baseball bat. I curse her absence as I try to perform tasks with my hands that used to be done without a thought, but that now require intense concentration and leave me with a headache. I remember her fondly, probably exaggerating her abilities and virtues, as I can't seem to scrape myself off of the couch to do simple daily tasks because most of my energy has been whisked away, never to return.
I know what it feels like to mourn the death of a person I am very close to and this is it. It feels exactly the same. One day I was there, and then someone dug a big hole and buried me and replaced me with a shell of my former self. And it is so....sad. I just feel so sad. I look forward to the future, the one I had mapped out for myself in my mind as a girl. Its constantly being erased and rewritten until it's just a gray, unintelligible smudge with a big hole in the middle where the paper has just given up.
I am sad that what I had thought would be, will never be. Unfulfilled expectations.
I believe it's the same with every unfulfilled expectation I have ever faced. The friend that couldn't play, the boy that never paid any attention to me, the scholarship I didn't receive, the job I couldn't keep, the home I envied but could never afford, the pregnancy that took its time to happen, the husband who couldn't stay, and the body that broke down before its time. Etcetera. It's the same with each unfulfilled expectation bourn in the heart of every person that has walked on this earth.
But here's the thing I am learning. It's ok to be sad. Its okay to look with longing on my expectations and mourn their loss. It's okay to take the time that I need to recover from the blow.
But here is the other thing I am learning. Eventually, I have a very important question to ask myself (and I say this is in the present tense because I am still in the process of answering the question). Am I going to choose to be happy with the destination that I have found myself in? I don't mean "Am I willing to resign myself, but always continue to live in the past, and reside in a state of bad attitude, self pity, and regret?" Will I be happy and choose to really LIVE in this place where I have found myself, because the truth is, it has its charms. I may not be able to run errands on a list a mile long, but I am finding more time to read to my children. I am learning to pay more attention to my body. I can feel my empathy for those who struggle with debilitating mental and physical problems growing day by day. I have more patience with my children's growing bodies that don't yet have the speed and capacity of a capable adult. I have learned that I can still serve others, I just need to pace myself. I have learned to ask for help when I need it, and I am learning, against every instinct in my body, that it is okay to appear weak. I have been humbled to the dust, and from the ashes of humility always rises increased strength.
I'm going to be okay. No. Better than okay.
