Sunday, February 28, 2016

A Journal to my Heart

      Just like my blog, I've started, stopped, started again and I feel that now is when my heart is telling me it is time to write a book. 

     Rather than surprise you when it is written and done, I would like to take you on this part of my journey.  As you have been with me during my emotional recovery, I cannot leave you out of this nor would I want to.

     You. Complete Me. 

     I am serious about this, but I cannot help but to always slip some kind of humor in my writing.  It's dry, I know, but I hope someone besides myself just laughed at that joke!

 This will be difficult to write about, unearthing all of those emotions that are always on the surface of my soul that have been tucked away as a reminder of where I have started, but at some point in my story those difficult times turn to astounding progress.

     As you travel with me, you will feel my heavy heart lighten, strive with determination and explode with achievement.  And I could not have done it without you.

     You are my rock, you are my anchor  and I give you my story in book form. 

     Who knows when I will finish, time is not my purpose, but the person who emerges as I finish, is. 


Sunday, February 21, 2016

Footprints in the Sand

        I was becoming moody.  Three months had passed since our collision.  Having decreased my narcotic dose, I was more lucid, which allowed me to remember more of my daily pain.  Misery was normal.  Moodiness came from lowering my narcotic consumption and frustration of not being able to accomplish what  I want to do each day. 

      I had never sat this much in my life.  My mind would not let me focus to read, I stared at the tv without hearing it.  I was exhausted from healing, I was bored, I couldn't drive, I couldn't leave my house on my own, I couldn't do much at all without help.  

     I was pissed about it. 

      Dependency is not my personality.  Greg sat with me and explained this is the third time I had gone through this phase of frustration.  Remembering this time only, I was stunned by his confession.  

     I did not go around the house screaming or throwing things, but my family could sense how irritable I was.  I did not want to talk, I did not want to be alone, but I did not want to be around anyone at the same time.   I just wanted to stand up! 

     Limbo, is where I was swinging right then.  We did not know if I would walk well or when.  We did not know if my ankles would hold me or how long.  We did not know how long the actual healing was going to take.  We did not know much, except that I was surviving. 

      Reminding myself of this often helped me work through my days.  I am grateful that I am alive.  I do not want to give up the life God granted.  Somehow I had to work through this and learn patience.  Please God, grant me the patience.  

     Greg and I spoke at length about how I could find peace with dependency until I could do things on my own.  I could see it was wearing on him.  He'd gotten upset only once, at least that's all that I can remember and I believe I am the one that pushed him.  

     Knowing that I do not know what I am saying most of the time requires great understanding from him.  He is my living angel.  He has patience, understanding, a thick skin and a love for me that carries us all.  I hold onto his strength so tightly that I hope that I do not drain it from him completely.  

     Thoughts of how well I was going to recover were constantly boring their way into my mind.  I desperately wanted Greg to understand my thoughts, feelings, all of these emotions swirling their way around inside of me.  He is unbelievably compassionate, but I see in his deep, brown eyes, a lack of full comprehension.  

     He's cannot fully understand because he experienced a different side of this tragedy.  It is not fair of me to get upset by this.  I felt I was at my lowest, saddest point in recovery. If it hurt this terribly to sit, it was going to be more excruciating to stand.  Maybe it would be better to stay in the wheelchair.....  Maybe it would be better to remove my right lower leg.....  Anything had to be better than what I was going through at that time. 

      Explaining to him that I felt like I was going through this part alone, he softly says that while we were in the hospital he read a phrase in the hospital gift shop and would like to recite it to me. 

      Holding my hands loosely in his, he looks tenderly at me, "Carey, you are asking me why you feel alone during your weakest moments and I think this is your answer.  The quote said,  

"Why, during my hardest times was there only one set of footprints in the sand?"  God answered, "You were not alone.  That is when I was carrying you, when you were not strong enough to carry yourself." 

  I stared, awestruck at him, lips parted, eyes wide with understanding.  I could not believe how true those words rang.  Greg's timing with that phrase was impeccable.  I could only sit there and allow that to sink in as my admiration for my husband grew.   

     He kneels on the floor beside my wheelchair and caresses my hand.  He says softly, sympathetically, "I can't fix this part for you Carey.  You cannot take the idea of being vulnerable and depending on others to take care of your needs, I can sense this."  

     "You feel guilty and it's causing a great deal of frustration.  Let us take care of you and make yourself a priority for once in your life.  I don't just love you Carey, I adore you." 

      I'm sobbing at his words, he is spot on.  "Carey, you haven't cried about what has happened, not once.  Just cry and let it all out," he begs.  I sobbed on his shoulder until I could sob no more.  

Sunday, February 7, 2016

Asshole of the Day!

     Two weeks ago, on a Thursday, I was leaving an appointment an hour from my home when I pulled into a well known fast food establishment.  Already disappointed that this drive through was the last  place I could stop before making the trip back home, I pulled up and both lanes were full of travelers in the same predicament as I. 

 It was not a healthy choice and it was busy.  As my turn to speak into the intercom to place my order approached, I noticed there was a pretty long line behind me as well. 

       Sitting in the outside lane, I pulled up and waited for the inner lane to progress so I could merge into the pick up line. Unable to move but a few feet, I hear a female voice radiate from the speaker asking if she could take the next cars order. 

     For a reason unknown to me, I left my window rolled down even though it was only twenty degrees outside and I hear a male voice bark, " If this asshole in front of me would pull up, I'd love to order!"  WTH?

     My lips parted and my eyes opened wide and instinctively I stuck my head out the window and looked behind me, only to have my mouth gape wide open and I now looked incredulously at the car behind me with bug eyes.  WTH?

     For there was a man and his wife that were most definitely in their seventies staring back at ME.  They were talking about ME!  Never, ever, ever has the term "asshole" been directed at me before, at least within my ear shot. 

     Looking ahead of me, I pull up the six inches between myself and a woman driving a brand new Tahoe, only to get a look of WTH? from her!  I am now cursing an elderly man and his elderly wife for having such nasty, impatient attitudes, effectively working myself into a offended tizzy. 

     Approaching the payment window, viewing them in my rear view mirror, I decide that I didn't care if they were ordering for the entire Jeff City football team, I was going to pay for their lunch!  I am "kind of" going to take the high road that even if I couldn't do anything about the dang drive through line, I was going to make an attempt to brighten their day, even if it was somewhat out of spite.  Or a lot out of spite. 

     Smiling as I was handing my debit card to the ladies on
the opposite side of the window, I instruct them that this "asshole" would like to pay for the "gentleman's" order behind me.  Humored shock crossed their faces as they both burst out with "awww, good for you for honey".   Yeah, yeah, high road.

     Driving away, I hear a couple of honks paired with a big wave from the gray haired couple to the rear of me.  Instead of flying my free bird, I also give a big wave to accept their thank you.  

     Pulling back onto the highway, my thoughts were of hoping they learned a lesson of patience and kindness because it really was no fault of my own.  

     Then I speculated that it was a good possibility that they were thinking they were the ones who taught ME a lesson.   So I was like, WTH?