Sarah, Your words always hit so beautifully. I began a journey with chronic pain almost 20 years ago when I was diagnosed with lupus. The first 5+ years were extremely difficult trying different things and finding that my then-husband wasn't, in fact, going to be there to support me. Invisible illnesses are tough. With all that in the rear-view mirror I can now see what a profound effect that had on all areas of my life - the cost to my marriage (much of it my fault with my cranky pain-filled days), the things I missed with my kids, the uncertainty that comes with trying different regimens, etc. However, ultimately, my life is now quite beautiful. I am happily alone, my kids grew up and I have the most wonderful grandson with whom I can play on the floor and chase after at the park. I am fortunate that I really, really enjoy quiet activities like walking, reading, knitting and painting that leave my old bones alone. My life is good, and I can focus on others in this hurting world. I will never, however, take pleasure in cooking, vacuuming and cleaning. Bless you!
Beautifully articulated. Thank you. I too am amazed at how hope can wait below the surface even when you wonder if it didn't die along with your loved one, or your dream, or your health, or anything dear that was taken from you. For me, seventeen years have passed since that last Christmas when my young husband was actively dying and our children were only 10, 13 and 15. I agree with you and can affirm the message that holding on and finding the strength to pull your own levers might help others realize something bright and important. What seems impossible when you are in the thick of grief over what you lost might turn out to be possible after all. And for anyone who is still struggling and hurting, may we remember what you said to "Keep watch on the horizon for the light that is imperceptibly returning." Absolutely. Yes.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful and poignant reflection with us! May you and your precious family discover new blessings and rediscover old blessings this year. Keep on writing, you touch more lives than you know 💖
'23 was a rough year for me. Diagnosed with and fighting leukemia and lost my dear mom at age 93 at a time I could not be with her because of immune system stuff. This note is a warm hug, a soothing song and just plain ole wonderful. It was also another reminder of those who "vacuumed" for me this year when I wasn't able. Thank you Sarah.
I have carers in 5 x a week. I just live in hope of vacuuming, wash floors and cleaning toilets. People think I’m kidding when I say I miss those things. Thank you for hope this is what my heart needs to hear and to be reminded to keep pulling levers. And it’s okay if they all don’t work. Just keep trying.
I’m blessed to have a front row seat to you and your beautiful family. I love how you lean on your quiet personal faith and how much I’ve learned from you. Beautifully said, 😭😭
You knocked it out of the park with this piece Sarah, and the title and sub-title are brilliant. I can't imagine the challenge of being unable to participate in your own life. Thank you for your courage in sharing your story so we can learn, remember and be lifted by it. I'm so glad you're over that hurdle.
Sarah, your words always move me, touch my soul. It's always a joy to read your work, to let the words settle in my being and to contemplate the feelings that you evoke. Thank you so much for your work and blessings to you and your family in the year to come.
Sarah,this whole piece is heart achingly tender. Beautifully poignant to read.
…’And the wounds became bright red scars with stitch marks still visible but eventually become fainter and less angry,until they are a raised line,tender when poked yet able to endure’
All these beautiful comments above say it already. Beautiful, so beautiful. The only real thing I have to add is a list of agonized profanity that essentially says the same thing albeit less hopefully.
I love all of this. Especially the last bit about the glow in the dark stars. I had those on my bedroom ceiling as a teenager. I mailed myself three big boxes this year of stuff from that bedroom and arranged them all decoratively in my grown-up independent-woman bachelorette-pad fangirl haven of an apartment. Teddy bears and Beanie Babies and two American Girl dolls who were such friends to me as a lonely kid that they became real, souvenirs and old journals and MY yearbooks, the yearbooks I poured my heart and soul into editing that were the first step to the career I have today. If the fatigue and the brain fog and the "whatever the hell is wrong with me" and neurodivergence cooperate (powered by the caffeine in this tea called "Reindeer Fuel"), I'll probably put away the Christmas decorations too and clean some and pack for my next trip coming up fast. It's been so refreshing to throw away and clean out what needs to stay in the past, but also to have these touchstones of delight and identity and being our whole selves.
Sarah, Your words always hit so beautifully. I began a journey with chronic pain almost 20 years ago when I was diagnosed with lupus. The first 5+ years were extremely difficult trying different things and finding that my then-husband wasn't, in fact, going to be there to support me. Invisible illnesses are tough. With all that in the rear-view mirror I can now see what a profound effect that had on all areas of my life - the cost to my marriage (much of it my fault with my cranky pain-filled days), the things I missed with my kids, the uncertainty that comes with trying different regimens, etc. However, ultimately, my life is now quite beautiful. I am happily alone, my kids grew up and I have the most wonderful grandson with whom I can play on the floor and chase after at the park. I am fortunate that I really, really enjoy quiet activities like walking, reading, knitting and painting that leave my old bones alone. My life is good, and I can focus on others in this hurting world. I will never, however, take pleasure in cooking, vacuuming and cleaning. Bless you!
Beautifully articulated. Thank you. I too am amazed at how hope can wait below the surface even when you wonder if it didn't die along with your loved one, or your dream, or your health, or anything dear that was taken from you. For me, seventeen years have passed since that last Christmas when my young husband was actively dying and our children were only 10, 13 and 15. I agree with you and can affirm the message that holding on and finding the strength to pull your own levers might help others realize something bright and important. What seems impossible when you are in the thick of grief over what you lost might turn out to be possible after all. And for anyone who is still struggling and hurting, may we remember what you said to "Keep watch on the horizon for the light that is imperceptibly returning." Absolutely. Yes.
Thank you for sharing this beautiful and poignant reflection with us! May you and your precious family discover new blessings and rediscover old blessings this year. Keep on writing, you touch more lives than you know 💖
'23 was a rough year for me. Diagnosed with and fighting leukemia and lost my dear mom at age 93 at a time I could not be with her because of immune system stuff. This note is a warm hug, a soothing song and just plain ole wonderful. It was also another reminder of those who "vacuumed" for me this year when I wasn't able. Thank you Sarah.
I have carers in 5 x a week. I just live in hope of vacuuming, wash floors and cleaning toilets. People think I’m kidding when I say I miss those things. Thank you for hope this is what my heart needs to hear and to be reminded to keep pulling levers. And it’s okay if they all don’t work. Just keep trying.
I’m blessed to have a front row seat to you and your beautiful family. I love how you lean on your quiet personal faith and how much I’ve learned from you. Beautifully said, 😭😭
With tears in my eyes, I hopefully say, “Thank you, Sarah.”
You knocked it out of the park with this piece Sarah, and the title and sub-title are brilliant. I can't imagine the challenge of being unable to participate in your own life. Thank you for your courage in sharing your story so we can learn, remember and be lifted by it. I'm so glad you're over that hurdle.
Oh my! should read "decorations"
Sarah, your words always move me, touch my soul. It's always a joy to read your work, to let the words settle in my being and to contemplate the feelings that you evoke. Thank you so much for your work and blessings to you and your family in the year to come.
Sarah,this whole piece is heart achingly tender. Beautifully poignant to read.
…’And the wounds became bright red scars with stitch marks still visible but eventually become fainter and less angry,until they are a raised line,tender when poked yet able to endure’
Thankyou ✨✨✨✨✨
All these beautiful comments above say it already. Beautiful, so beautiful. The only real thing I have to add is a list of agonized profanity that essentially says the same thing albeit less hopefully.
My heart thanks you … remembering God loves me as I am already
Thank you. Thank you for quiet reflections and appreciation. May you have a blessed new year full of what is good.
I love all of this. Especially the last bit about the glow in the dark stars. I had those on my bedroom ceiling as a teenager. I mailed myself three big boxes this year of stuff from that bedroom and arranged them all decoratively in my grown-up independent-woman bachelorette-pad fangirl haven of an apartment. Teddy bears and Beanie Babies and two American Girl dolls who were such friends to me as a lonely kid that they became real, souvenirs and old journals and MY yearbooks, the yearbooks I poured my heart and soul into editing that were the first step to the career I have today. If the fatigue and the brain fog and the "whatever the hell is wrong with me" and neurodivergence cooperate (powered by the caffeine in this tea called "Reindeer Fuel"), I'll probably put away the Christmas decorations too and clean some and pack for my next trip coming up fast. It's been so refreshing to throw away and clean out what needs to stay in the past, but also to have these touchstones of delight and identity and being our whole selves.
Thanks for a beautiful read to start the new year!