I had a bad day—well, actually just a bad moment in my day. But it felt big and heavy and well, grief kinda takes you over like that, I guess. You don’t get to chose when or where or why. I want to scream at the top of my lungs what’s wrong, or explain the specifics of why I’m still struggling in my post-tumor life, but it hit me tonight in bed when I should be sleeping instead— Nothing about my experience is necessarily unique.
Bad things happen to lots of people. How about you reading this… Does it seem like too much some days? Yep. Are we stronger because of it? Sure. But I bet you’d rather the naivety over the strength. I would. Or would I? Depends on the day, I suppose.
Do we feel alone? Often. Even when we’re surrounded? Absolutely. Do we feel forgotten? I do. Do I want your pity? Never.
Can I exist inside my new normal? Uh huh. Can I do hard things? History would prove yes. Did I feel like it today? Nah.
“…my soul is downcast within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. —Though he brings grief, he will show compassion, so great is his unfailing love.” Lamentations 3:19-22, 32
Did this scripture make it too dramatic? Probably. Do I feel better now? Not yet. But I do like writing and it’s been awhile. So there.
Ps. Acoustic Neuromas are stupid. I wish I didn’t know what translabyrinthine approach was. Or what SSD stands for. Or how to spell synkinesis without autocorrect. And I still don’t know how to say tinnitus, but that is stupid too.
Pps. Okay. Now I feel a little better. Care to share your “Ps.”? We can at least be alone together.