About a year ago I was able to let it go. I pushed in the little knobs that lock the sides in place, folded the sides in, picked up the helpful little contraption and carried it to the garage. My husband was out there so I handed the walker to him and said, "Here. I don't want this in the house anymore and I hope I die before I need to use one again."
Now, a year later, I almost regret that moment. Almost. I almost regret becoming whole again.
For a very tiny bit of time I stopped running and it was sweet. My whole life was narrowed down to living one minute at a time and each one of those minutes ticked by slowly. I needed help with every single thing I did; getting out of bed, drying off after a shower, getting dressed, tying my shoes...even my bible was too heavy to lift. Every movement had to be analyzed and prioritized. Is it necessary to do this? Does it really have to be done now or can it wait a month or two?
I did struggle with the whole "life boat" thing. I'm no longer a productive member of society, nor even of this family-just throw me overboard. Why am I here if I can't function? But then I remembered we're not hear to function. We're not here to rush around performing and doing. Like Ann Voskamp says in her book, 1000 Gifts, life is not an emergency to be sped wildly through. I listened to the trailer from her book and here are a few quotes:
moments are all we have
time is blurring by and everyone is slipping past
the voice we need to hear is the Voice that is saying each moment is for you
although time moves on, it's moments are holy
this is how you spend your one life well-receiving each moment for what it really is: holy, ordinary, amazing grace...a gift
My doctor told me walking was the best thing I could do to heal so that's what I did. Barrett and I walked for hours each day, but it was a slow, toddily walk, highlighted by my son's incredibly sweet observations. It wasn't the walk of a mom in a hurry to exercise and get home so she can check things off her to-do list. It was just a walk.
I learned so much from my little guy. He was never in a hurry. He noticed the way an ant carried a crumb across the sidewalk and the iridescent colors on a dragonfly's wing. He pointed out minuscule flowers hidden in the grass and the way the wind blew the smell of early autumn across a field. Every single second with him was a gift and he taught me that every single second of our lives is a gift as well if we would only slow down and pay attention to them.
My son was in awe of God-His creativity, His wisdom, His ability to make no two things alike. Barrett felt that each thing he saw was a hug from God....God's way of saying, I love you. I'm here. I care. I am here, and here, and here, and here.....