This is a question that has entered my mind often as I've experienced loss in my life. How much more of this can I endure? How can I possibly keep going in this circumstance? These questions float around my head frequently.
Grief is a runaway train and I am a passenger on that train. I am only along for the ride, wondering when it will slow down, wondering when it will come to a stop so I can finally step off and direct my life in a productive direction. In the past I believed that I could control the train, that I was the conductor. I tried to reason myself through the grief, attempting to control which days were good and which were bad, trying to predict when the train would nearly fall off the tracks or when it would take a sharp turn. I wanted control.
I realized many months ago, to my dismay, that I was actually a passenger, and that the only thing that was within my power to do was to submit myself to the process. This understanding has allowed me to be patient and kind with myself. It has allowed me to forgive myself for going over it all again. Today I am going over it, recounting it, and repeating it all over again. I'm a passenger and that's okay.
Today is a day where the train feels out of control, twisting and turning, inducing vertigo in every aspect of my life. I asked myself through tears to my family today, "How much can one heart take?" When I was injured, my dear family in mourning wept together on the floor of my living room and slept side by side all night long. They came together in their collective loss, they comforted each other. Today, slumped in my chair, I scooted to the edge, transferred onto that same living room floor, and cried. All my sibling in tears, again grieving our collective loss, came to my side and cried with me. Heaped all over me, I was reminded that within the deepest grief is born the deepest love.
My family is altered by my accident. We are not the same as we used to be, for better or for worse... but one thing I feel is deeper connection, stronger commitment, and unbreakable loyalty to each other's wellbeing. As I felt their warm tears wet the shirt over my chest and arms, I felt guilt that I was the source of this tragedy, this sorrow. But I was again reminded, that this is the price of love. When we love in a way that puts another's happiness above our own, we take a great risk. We no longer face our trials alone, but take upon ourselves the sorrow of the loved one. This is a Christlike place to be. This is what God asks us to do. This is how we will survive whatever comes our way. The love of others has seemed to give me a literal strength, knowing another is also carrying my burden. Does that change the fact that I remain paralyzed? No. Does that fix the immediate problem, obviously not. But it does something immensely important. It provides healing to my broken soul.
Yesterday I sat in the presence of a family whose mother is fighting a brutal cancer. As I have followed the progress of this incredible woman who has been in and out of hospitals for years, the question arose. How much can her heart take? How much can the hearts of her dear husband and children take? As she stood up yesterday to address an audience to support a fundraiser for her, I saw unbelievable strength. A strength that confuses me, a strength I do not know, but certainly envy. She spoke, and as she spoke I watched her husband and felt his undying love for her. I realized at that moment that perhaps one heart really cannot take all that life can offer in it's hellish ways. But many hearts linked in sacrificial love can form a bond that is simply impervious to life's challenges. It astounds me. This is how we survive and (hopefully) come to thrive through our setbacks and losses.
I have had hundreds and thousands take my burden and place it on their own backs. This woman is one of them who told me that she continues to pray for me with her family. That gave me strength. We value independence so much in our society, but I don't believe that is God's way. I believe that interdependence is the quality he wants us to develop through life. That was Christ's mission and life, and that is how I want to be.
The grief has definitely eased as I have adapted, and I'm confident that one day (I pray soon), I'll step off and move on. It's only been a year and a half after all... but as I continue to bounce around the bumpy ride of this train, may I humbly thank every prayer, every thought, and every act of kindness. I hope that beautiful horizons await us after all is said and done, and that maybe this crazy runaway will have taken us farther in life than some smooth riding, little choo-choo train.
