Elizabeth Kubler Ross once wrote about the stages of grief.  DABDA — Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, and Acceptance.

I can attest to these steps.  I have definitely had points of them all.  All except perhaps the acceptance.  Tonight was perhaps a noteworthy time of acceptance.

The Shepherd and I talked at length about some of my limitations–ones I had not been willing to acknowledge.

I hate my limitations.  I hate feeling like a non-contributor.  I hate feeling like a taker– unable to pull my weight. I hate believing in a God who could have healed me and chose not to.

And my reality is– I have limitations– physical limitations, spatial limitations, memory limitations.  Some can be compensated for– some cannot.  Life will never be as it was before the tumor was diagnosed.  I will not be the same.

I do have strengths.  I do have things to offer the church, my family, my friends.  I will have to be more creative than the average Joe.  I will have to be more patient.  I may not be the mover and shaker I once thought I would be.

As for God, I have to work that one out still.  But for today, I am willing to take the next step for a richer life within the limitations I now have.

It is hard for me to quantify what the hardest thing is for me.  There are several major emotional struggles.  One would be the steady stream of fear that courses through me.  I used to be confident about everything.  I might not be able to do everything, but I knew I could learn anything I wanted to learn.  I could find the resources for anything I needed.  I could talk intelligently with anyone I met.

Now, I am filled with self-doubt.  I cannot remember day to day what conversations I have had.  I might confuse my own thoughts with actual discussions.  Sometimes,  I lose every hint of a conversation, even after being reminded.  It is as though it never occurred at all.

Additionally, I create scenarios that are based on something I thought and think it is what happened.  For example, when I was in the hospital I fell and hurt my shoulder.  I thought it was dislocated.  It was not, but I told everybody I met I had dislocated my shoulder.  To this day, my girls remember that I dislocated my shoulder.  Reality is it never happened.  I do not know what other areas of life this has happened in, but I know it has.

I get lost easily. One of the areas of my brain most affected by the tumor was spatial relationships.  I cannot navigate more than a block or two from my home or work.  I cannot seem to learn landmarks, or where they are in relationship to where I am going.

Going to the bathroom in a restaurant is scary.  I must pay very careful attention to what door I went in, land marks by my table, etc.  I am as likely to get lost as to find my way back to my table.

I fear being irrelevant.  It is much better now with my girls.  I feel like we have found a working relationship that is normal for a mom and teenage daughters.  They still call their dad for far more than they call me.  But I know part of that is transportation  details, etc.  Things he is better suited to respond to.   But at work, I do not have a job or responsibility yet.  I can always jump in and do something, but nothing yet is specifically mine.

With Derrick, we struggle with each other.  He does not want to trust me.  He finds making all decisions to be much faster without me.  Things we used to discuss together are now often just an update I receive  In my quest to be a part I strike out.

I have trouble with friendships.  Like in other areas, I don’t remember the important details that make one know the other is listening and cares.  I also get frustrated trying to organize my time and efforts to engage.  I am quicker to quit because it is so much more work.

Extended family feels very far away.  I have not kept them informed of my struggles.  I don’t want their simple assurances that I am over reacting or it doesn’t matter.  It is easier to pretend all is fine when inside myself  I feel like I am losing the battle to become myself again.  Instead, I see a tired, scared, and angry woman.  I wonder how much longer before I find some contentment in what I can do… in who I am.

I have revealed more about my deepest thoughts and feelings.  I have been vulnerable this week.  And I have heard that I am not alone.  More than that, I have heard I have mattered AND continue to matter.  My life is not  an island.  My decisions, my actions, and my moods can have ripple effects.

I am also realizing I have to get aggressive in finding relationships for today.  It has been reinforced to me that I know how to be a good friend.  I have to choose now to be a good friend in Oregon.  It is time.

The first week was very hard.  I had forgotten the format was to give many short exercises with rests between each one.  The exercises seemed dumb to me.  I was geared up for big demand and instead it felt silly and petty.

My attitude, anger and disgust,  was all over my face… and showed up in my heart rate.  The doctor came in and challenged me.  I settled down.  I started reciting the fruits of the spirit.  And my heart rate fell back to normal.

That helped, but still I had seizures.  Many, many seizures.  They left me exhausted.

We plodded through.  I don’t know if we made any progress.  The doctor thinks we did.  He thinks I will be less prone to seizures.  And that if we do the mirroring exercises I can get much of the use of my ankle back… and preserve my hip from certain hip replacement surgery down the road.

I am not certain he is right.  However, I am certain I learned.  I was a jerk the first day.  I don’t want to be that anymore.  It is time for me to demonstrate the fruits of the Spirit… even the ones that are hard for this Christian.  Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.  Against such things there is no law.

I want to walk properly.  This doctor has worked with mirror boxes which makes sense to me.  But he wants to play with the parts of my brain that cause the seizures.  That is miserable for me.  And I will be on my own in a different city.  That scares me greatly because I get lost so easily.

So, I have to dig into myself and be courageous.

Right now I feel like I am on the ground with my head held down…recognizing I do not have any dominance.  Is God perhaps loving me enough to show me my boundaries?  Is He maybe, just maybe, showing Himself by not rescuing me?

There is the quick, standard, “I am doing alright.  How are you?”  Of course both parties realize we are doing a cursory exchange and neither side anticipates real information.

But I gave Theresa a hint of a more real answer.  I carefully crafted, “I am not going to be running a marathon anytime soon. And I won’t be running our business either. But each day has its own potential to be rich.

That is my hope right now… the potential for any given day to be rich.

And there are days I cannot hardly stand that I exist and use up valuable resources of my family, or even resources of the world… like oxygen.  Those are the worst days.  When I cannot understand why I am alive. When God feels cruel because He has allowed me another breath.

What are those days?  They are when I realize how unsuccessful I still am.  When I missed every item on my checklist.  When I reacted inappropriately in my anger.  And  when I realize how untrustworthy I am.

Typically I blame others for my failure.  He should have sent me a reminder.  He should have done a better job of teaching me how to use my tools.  She did not explain it clearly.  She did not…

And at the end of my excuses, I pause and know that I am the one who failed.  I am the one incapable.  I am the one who should have.  And in that dawning I wish I could die and be removed from the overwhelming knowledge that I am failing.  The knowledge that I am not the capable, contributing member of society I once was.

By coincidence I read my surgery notes today as well.  Wow, it was a substantial mass.  And to think, I was able to function nearly normally for so long.

Today is my birthday.

Today is one year from the last time I functioned as a pastors wife (sponsored a youth activity).

Today my daughter signed a lease on an apartment and will move tomorrow.  And I am alive to see it, and be a part of her growth.  I got to fold laundry for her… like any normal mom.

Today is a gift.  Thank you God for Today.