Figuring Things Out

This is a picture of Nathan and me taken on his 19th birthday after a concert at UGA last spring. He performed his first solo that night and blew all my musical fuses.

I drove him to college for the first time a year ago this weekend - and just took him back again yesterday. It was goodbye again - which has me reminiscing.

When I came home last year, I filled a new prescription and swallowed a medicine that changed my life for about two months. Leucovorin raised the metabolized folic acid levels in my spinal fluid, helping my legs work like well oiled hinges - better than they had in five years.

Sorrow and joy together again.

As I adjusted to Nathan's absence, my body adjusted to the meds. They were still helpful, but they weren't quite full proof. Truth is, damage from my fall in 09' might be the reason I ended up reaching for my cane again last January (and leaning on it to make it through concert day with Nate). Regardless, as the year went by, I went from thinking I could rebuild muscle strength and live with my sickness on the back burner to accepting it impacts every day and almost every decision I make.

Years ago, I wrote to capture God's fingerprint in my day to day single parent life. I often recounted action stories, involving my two young boys. I've struggled to write ever since I remarried five years ago and at times blamed that change for my loss of words.

Somewhere in the last month, however, I figured out that medical drama isn't nearly as much fun to write about as elementary boy antics. And since the last five years have contained a lot of medical drama, it's just been hard to write.

But after meeting the "smell the color nine" moms, I realize there's an underworld of folks battling chronic illness like me. And while I never planned to share my experiences as a widowed, single mom, I never contemplated having an impact as a disabled writer either.

But that's what I am. And if I can stop apologizing for it and just accept it, I might actually write a few things worth reading.

Nathan's in a hotel in Athens for the weekend during band camp prep. When his apartment's ready, I plan to help him move in. I'm home resting, hoping the nerves in my foot calm down so the drive won't be so painful. And I skipped out on a visit to Don's family farm in south GA this weekend because I knew too much car vibration would further irritate said nerves, limiting the little help I can be later this week.

See? Every choice has to be weighed. And when Don and Sam left today, my heart was sad. Car vibrations - too much? It sounds crazy. Yet if you walked on my foot you'd understand.

When I've written about this stuff before, I've felt like a whiner. Today, I write to commiserate with others who live with less than desirable limitations. You're out there. I'm not alone.

While our hearts continue to grieve on some level, I know this is true, "Lord you assigned me my portion and my cup; you have made my lot secure. The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance." (Ps. 16:5-6)

And so I will write.