Today was the last day of Rylynn’s 2nd grade year. Last year she didn’t go back to 1st grade after Spring Break because of the pandemic so there was no last day of school ritual or rites. This year she quietly packed up all of her supplies into her sequined rainbow backpack and on a Tuesday, just walked out of the door to her classroom for the last time. Two years in a row she doesn’t get to finish her school year. Maybe it bothers me more than her, maybe she doesn’t know how to express the emotion. When I looked into her backpack and saw the remnants of the school supplies we so carefully chose and packed in August, I felt a heaviness in my chest. A pain I’ll have to process through in time. We were so full of hope and excitement for the year ahead and for the second year in a row, for very different reasons, I could have never imagined this being the end of the school year for her. ( I read this blog post to Rylynn and she said, “yeah, I think it is affecting you more than it is me. I’m used to having surgeries, I know what it’s like. I don’t even feel scared anymore.” Thanks Ry.)
This girl is learning at such a young age that life doesn’t always go like you think it should and it sometimes requires a shift in perspective. I’m learning this as well. It’s completely normal to feel sadness and grief and mourn the loss of expectations. It’s also my choice to not get stuck there. I can choose my perspective and my attitude. I’m anticipating a few very difficult days ahead, and I’ll feel all those feels in real time. But when I get to pull back and think about how I should be thinking, I’m sure to think about all the amazing things that are coming and will come because of this hardship. I’m reading a book right now called The Gift by Edith Eger. She is a psychologist who survived Auschwitz as a teenager. It is incredibly powerful and it is not a coincidence that I came upon in this time of my life.
“…the things that interrupt our lives, that stop us in our tracks, can also be catalysts for the emerging self, tools that show us a new way to be, that endow us with a new vision.”
What a beautiful perspective. Is it possible that I can choose to look at this time as a catalyst, a gift, that will show me a new way to be? Is this possibly what James means In James 1 when he tells us to have joy in our suffering? Not that I’m so darn happy about a bum hip, but that I can be truly joyful that I am being given an opportunity to change? To see? To grow? To watch my daughter do the same? Can I hold joy and sadness at the same?
Who can I learn to be in this life interruption? I want to be willing and aware of the person I can become, the perspective I can take. I want to be open to all of the lessons that life has in store for me. Hope, courage, perseverance, character, peace, humility…the list is probably endless.
Tomorrow, Wednesday, is pre-op at the hospital. Our last day to walk and stretch and jump. It’ll be a long day, but I have a feeling that with the right perspective, it’ll be a great day.
Adventures in Hip Dysplasia 