Grief and moving on

My life has changed dramatically in the past 18 months and not necessarily for the better. There are things I'll never get back. No more motor bike or horse riding, no running, stair climbing or even standing up without effort. I've lost my higher brain function, my ability to walk without a cane, my career and so much more. Sure, some of these things will eventually return but when is anyone's guess.

Yet through all this time, as I've watched myself unravel and disappear before my eyes, I've been told the strangest things by all manner of people - you're young and fit (when I was lying in a hospital bed unable to move), you'll be fine (when I had to go back for a second procedure), so many other people are worse off than you (I had no idea it was a competition), how lucky you are (when I had to extend my sick leave because I couldn't yet drive or walk) and the biggest stinker of them all - everything happens for a reason. Please!

I read an interesting blog post today on that very topic. Tim Lawrence wrote a compelling piece about living with pain and how everything doesn't happen for a reason. Sometimes bad stuff just happens, there is no life lesson to be learned, the person isn't better off for the experience. It's simply bad. Horrible even.

I realise now I've been grieving for my old life, my easy mobility, my quick wit and reliable intellect. Of course I have, it's only natural. So why then am I not allowed to acknowledge this grief and why do others try to so hard to convince me that this very bad thing is actually not so bad or even good?

Probably because it makes them feel better. Probably because they have no concept of what I live with every day and you know what? I wouldn't wish that upon anyone else. But if you ask me how I am and I tell you I'm fine it's because I can see that you don't really want to know. Or worse still, if I make an effort to tell you what's going on, don't invalidate my experiences by saying 'well it's great to hear things are improving' when I've just told you the opposite.

Of course the flip side is the core group of people who do understand and have been incredible. And I'm lucky to be surrounded by them. But still it hasn't insulated me from the worst people of all; those who believe they fit into the latter group but are actually the former. The advice givers. The ones who rush to tell you their own tales of woe and then sweep out of the room before you've had a chance to utter a word. Or the fair weather friends who simply disappear only to reappear later when they need something from you.

So, please, let me be sad for a moment, let me mourn the loss of the old me and move on to embracing the new me in my time. No, not the timing that works best with your schedule, fits your world view or matches the advice you gave me. My time, this moment right here. Now.