Good morning from Colorado : ;Adaptation: yes , I feel so badly right now. I've been griping about not being able to do the things I did when I wasn't 80 years old. Then i read the prompt from the young girl of today who has adapted beautifully at her young age and is making something of her life. It's one thing to have to adapt to an aging body, but to a young body I know nothing about. how that would be. So here as I lie in my senior citizen living apartment with all kinds of choices for we seniors to do every day, whether in the little bus/van they provide for us, or even exercise, games, meetings, happy hours, book clubs, events in the event center, concerts in the park, etc etc etc. , I give my profound admiration to all of you who have helped us all immensely to get through the daily chore of adaptation. What brave young ladies you are. God Bless you. Keep flying high Suleika.
Hi Mary Lou. I feel like I've experienced a little of both experiences. I was a windsurfer, mountain biker, weight lifter (amateur at all three) who broke my neck at 49. Suddenly, I became a person who can't lift a 10 lb. sack of potatoes. Then I went through two brain surgeries within a decade and lost a lot more abilities. I see people run across a street or jump onto a bus and can barely remember when I could do those things. Also, I am turning 72 in a week, and my body, maybe more so due to inability to keep it strong, feels it. I gripe too...but I've also filled my life with different things I love...making art and growing wildflowers. And...I often feel grateful that I kept my health and abilities as long as I did...due to stories just like Brittany's. What a beautiful woman and an inspiration to all of us.
thank you Linda, making art and growing wildflowers, how wonderful of you to write me, thank you. Wow, you've been through a lot. I will add you to the list of beautiful women that are and have been an inspiration to all of us. I can't run across the street nor hop a bus either but I still can walk with a cane and go to lunch with children and grand and great grand children. God Bless you Linda.
Hi Mary Lou- I relate so much to what you wrote! My body works totally differently than it did before cancer, but I'm 69, and it's getting harder and harder to tell the difference between before and after cancer and just my body getting older. I feel so grateful to be on the planet breathing in and out. My great aunt Georgia died in her 90s. She had a needlepoint saying on her wall "Old Age is not for Sissies" - I think disability is not for sissies either and I'm so happy to be a part of Sulieka's wonderful crew. 🫶
I’m glad that you’re here, Jeannine. I’m one year behind you, and also ancient after a slew of surgeries, procedures and the changes that come with them. That we’ve lived to tell is worthy of celebration! Thank you for what you shared here.
thank you JeannineBee9 , Gratitude will get you farther than you ever expected to go. I like your great aunt Georgia's saying. i'm also grateful to be breathing also, it beats the alternative, You are an overcome,
I find that each challenge presents its own unique set of obstacles, but at the heart of it, I remember this: “It’s not the mountains ahead that wear you out, it’s the grain of sand in your shoe.”
Suleika, I see you parasailing all over this life, touching down briefly for things like bone marrow biopsies and a lymphocyte infusion, but then you sail right back up, taking in everything your eyes can behold. What I’ve learned from you is how uniquely you view the world. Your perspective has been honed by leukemia but the world is so much more vibrant and thrilling because of it. I’m so thankful for your willingness to say the difficult things and share yourself so completely with everyone. ♥️
I’m just thankful for every word written here. I’ve never felt so much a part of a wonderful gathering of folks whom I’ve never met. I feel like I know everyone.
“Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?” -Frida ♥️
Rediscovering what brings me joy has been my intention lately. Taking time to notice, to observe the simple certainty of sunrise and sunset, to talk to my plants, to cook Persian foods for a good friend, to visit the local “Mediterranean (aka Middle Eastern)” market and marvel at the types of olives and goodies like fig jam and halva, lavash and Bulgarian feta...and the jars upon jars of spices....magical! I’ve discovered a new family restaurant called Habibi’s (Arabic for beloved). The people are delightful and the food cooked with love. Plus, baklava! And yes, I live with health stuff and have for decades. Now with menopause and a wonky thyroid, some days are full of grief (Good grief, Charlie Brown). There is something to be said for rediscovering fun in the midst of health challenges and for creativity and observing life in new ways however simple or grand. Keep savoring it all, Suleika Joon! Love to you, Jon, River and your magical family. ♥️🐾🎶💫📚
I, too, am wrapping up a four week family holiday that was filled with celebration of life’s offerings: birthday parties, ocean swims and a full moon dancing across the sea. As I turn onto the last 36km of dirt road that returns me to our ranch nestled against the Coast Range mountains I can hear my vegetable garden overwhelmed by weeds and our hay meadows drying out under the hotter than normal Summer, screaming at me to attend to them immediately. I am not ready to return to “work”.
I am not ready. Then I notice the vibrant red of the painted cup lining the road, the magenta fireweed blossoms and sweet creamy daisy heads waving at me in the evening breeze - welcoming me home. The silence. The peace. And, I smile, filled with joy that I returned home in time to see these wildflowers, still blooming in spite of the July heat. It will take me 1:15 hours more to complete the last 18km of reentry. No rush. No worries. I will silence the screams. I will weed the garden and cut the hay. It will get done. One weed at a time. One hay bale at a time. One glorious breath at a time.
Enjoy being back! I so love your part of the world. I may have mentioned this before but my three week trip on dirt roads through the Chilcotin in 1997 remains one of the highlights of my life.
Once again...I feel seen. Thanks for helping me feel less alone. Sending you all the good vibes for the “scanxiety” period. I know how challenging that time can be. ♥️
Nothing changes more than an aging body. Can’t sit through n the sun like I def to, my skin has changed, I’ve lost many friends. Even though their are some things I can no longer do, and during the summer having to cover use more than usual. Lots of letting go, but the joy is there. I can walk. Do exercises, and dance and dance has given me the most joy. Especially dancing to Jon’s new music, which is filled with joy! I’m not sleeping well because my stomach isn’t well, and I’m trying to take care of it even with the not knowing what’s happening to it, the joy is present. It just needs test like my body
I have to say that since losing my husband last year, although the shock has worn off, I still find life difficult to navigate. I've always been fiercely independent but this is a different animal. I don't want to use the loss as a crutch or excuse or impairment but it's tough to find a purpose at this point in my life. For nearly 35 years my husband was my North Star and absent that, I feel rudderless. Sure I move, I think, I create, I resolve, but the adjustment of focus to self not other, remains stymieing.
You nailed it. For the past almost 9 years, and now, I am still searching for meaning following the death of my wife of 34 years. The Isolation Journals has been an immense help in correcting my course. I am still breathing, but while my rudder is awakening, I still have no sails. I wish you strength, love, and peace. One day we'll know what this is about.
I lost a husband to brain cancer after 2 years of his being sick. No one’s journey after losing a spouse is the same but I will say what helped me, was finding friends who truly understand. Not everyone does because they have not lived it. I still had lonely days but I knew I was not alone, thanks to my friends.
I haven’t faced that loss, but what you wrote sounds exactly the way I imagine I would feel, but maybe I’ll be the one to leave first. The older I get, the more “what-ifs” I have.
I’m so sorry for the loss of your dear North Star.
Prompt 252 - What does adaptation mean to you? How have you learned to live within limitation?
Adaptation, to me, means “going with the flow.” It is not succumbing to events, or not caring, but observing. Realizing that my perception of “reality” colors my path, control of my choices, decisions, responses, is still within my power. Therefore, a sense of limitation may challenge us to adapt, to observe the limitation in new ways and maybe compensate for it if we choose. The idea of limitation implies an idea of “normal.” But what is “normal”?
Normal is a frame of reference constructed from our belief system – what we have learned from our parents, teachers, others, and our world experiences, influenced by society and culture. A limitation is something that is not normal relative to this frame of reference. Change the frame of reference and what seems limiting might be viewed as normal. For example, a deaf child does not know there is such a thing as “hearing” and her silent world appears to her as normal. Those who have hearing may view her deafness as a limitation because they can hear, and she cannot. The deaf child adapts by observing and learning with a heightened visual sense. This world is her normal.
My response to a limited understanding of some experience along the journey is to step back, tell myself: “..well, that is interesting..”, and file that experience away for later consideration when I have learned more about it - which could take years.
So, you might ask, what is the point of all this? I believe that unless we are driven to learn, understand, and increase our awareness, limitation and adaptation make no sense. On the other hand, adaptation is a tactic to keep moving toward that goal, and the limitations we encounter are our teachers.
Adaptation and all the steps to acceptance and adaptation to a body that fought hard to live, survived sepsis, and had a big adjustment to make as it learned to do all the things it needed to do to live with damaged lungs, and weakened bones from high dose steroids. But, as my mother would have told me, life is all about adapting to things that are totally out of our control, putting one foot in front of the other, using aids like a wheelchair at times, but getting on with the business of life and finding that happiness isn’t in a perfect, strong body, but is about finding one’s way when the way seems blocked and coming out on the other side a newer, stronger mentally version of oneself. As Dory would say, “Just keep swimming” !
I have worked continuously from early on until I neared my 70th birthday. Pushed my square self into a round hole during my univesity days in Limerick and Galway, I worked through the years of crippling Lupus, raised the kids alone until 43, secured my career, and fought for position in traditionally a man's occupation. I started my novel, moved to France and promptly broke my humerus in many places, tore tendons as well as caused inflamation in my elbow. My cousin in Beirut made the repair, but there was residual effects and with it; limitations. Pain has been my constant companion these many years. I have often wondered what life would be like without it, but in an aging body pain lurks in small, out-of-the-way places, tests my resolve, petitions my heart to push and see what this Philistine will do. I conjure up a specialist that speaks English as my French gets lost in translation. My body won't do the things I used to do yet in listening to all these Isolation Journals from all walks of life, all ages, many determined women, I can be joyful in our ability to find a peaceful place to rest our silent screams and find some clarity in this our limitation.
There is something about the concept of adaptation that is truly embracing life no matter where one is on the spectrum...as we all are. I think it is a philosophy of living. At every given point along the journey to believe one is doing the best one can, there is joy in knowing one can do better and that is by adaptation. I too am fully in my third trimester( of life) heading into unknown territory toward my end ... still years ahead I hope. And reading the stories of all of you, no matter where you are on the spectrum of adaptation , inspire me, bring joy to my heart and soul. Yes! Keep flying Suleika. Love you so much light and joy of the world.
Suleika, the pictures of your parasailing adventure took me back to my own flight, when I strapped in and leaped off a cliff with the pilot behind me telling me what to do. The Pacific Ocean loomed in front of me, the beach below became a distant sandy swath covered with tiny human figures. We weaved around the rocks projecting from the cliffs, a bit of a fright for me, but the pilot was skilled and we landed safely. The exhilaration stays with me to this day six years later.
Only a few months after my flying experience, I received my first diagnosis, and that was another type of cliff. This time there was no sail to catch the wind, no blue ocean to thrill my vision. This time I simply fell, and have been clawing my way back since.
I’ve been told I’m resilient, something that never crossed my mind in the “before days”, when I could plan my life according to my wishes and not what a nasty disease dictates. I fight the blues and what I call “the Terrors”, those feelings that creep in about what the future might bring. But it seems I win as I continue to cook and knit and garden and love and make plans for happy events.
What Britteny says is so true: There is no "other side" to some forms of challenge. (Many thanks for that statement and so many others that also ring true.) I have to monitor my fears, and not let the feeling of being trapped overwhelm me. I have to listen to my psychologist when she tells me about “acceptance”, something I fought for a long time. I have to recognize that this is the life I’ve been given and just do what I can to make it good.
Thanks. Life right now is hard, challenging, yet not without meaning. Your yes strengthens my yes. We yes on with courage, with the help of our friends. Thank God we are not alone.
Suleika and Brittany, holding the truths in one hand and two, moving forward and facing the unknown. To say that both your stories are inspiring would be an understatement! My daughter (now 22) suffers from a variety of "invisible illnesses," but that is her story to tell, not mine. Mine is how I have adapted, most times with patience, care and with an even keel on the outside. Her last semester of college, I drove her (45 min. drive) each day for her classes. I committed, deep in my heart, to notice things, to engage, to produce some work of creativity. It truly became my writer's retreat and also a place where I engaged with youth. It was, a glorious, difficult as hell (not all days were days she could complete, as the illnesses flared and we drove home with her in deep tears of pain and disappointment), and something I miss. I created my second book there, in the great halls of learning. I made friendships with professors and students. Most rewarding, was seeing my daughter in her thriving moments, not needing me. Living in the Limitations in Stillness and Might has become a silent mantra for me. I didn't have "words" for what I was doing, until today. Thank you, Suleika and Brittany, for those words, for this mantra.
Mary, how beautiful of you to recognize that the most rewarding was to see your daughter thrive, not needing you. That’s when you know you’ve been a great parent.
What a wonderful experience with your brother. We will all be thinking of you next week. Sending infinite well wishes for a good outcome on your biopsy!
Good morning from Colorado : ;Adaptation: yes , I feel so badly right now. I've been griping about not being able to do the things I did when I wasn't 80 years old. Then i read the prompt from the young girl of today who has adapted beautifully at her young age and is making something of her life. It's one thing to have to adapt to an aging body, but to a young body I know nothing about. how that would be. So here as I lie in my senior citizen living apartment with all kinds of choices for we seniors to do every day, whether in the little bus/van they provide for us, or even exercise, games, meetings, happy hours, book clubs, events in the event center, concerts in the park, etc etc etc. , I give my profound admiration to all of you who have helped us all immensely to get through the daily chore of adaptation. What brave young ladies you are. God Bless you. Keep flying high Suleika.
Hi Mary Lou. I feel like I've experienced a little of both experiences. I was a windsurfer, mountain biker, weight lifter (amateur at all three) who broke my neck at 49. Suddenly, I became a person who can't lift a 10 lb. sack of potatoes. Then I went through two brain surgeries within a decade and lost a lot more abilities. I see people run across a street or jump onto a bus and can barely remember when I could do those things. Also, I am turning 72 in a week, and my body, maybe more so due to inability to keep it strong, feels it. I gripe too...but I've also filled my life with different things I love...making art and growing wildflowers. And...I often feel grateful that I kept my health and abilities as long as I did...due to stories just like Brittany's. What a beautiful woman and an inspiration to all of us.
thank you Linda, making art and growing wildflowers, how wonderful of you to write me, thank you. Wow, you've been through a lot. I will add you to the list of beautiful women that are and have been an inspiration to all of us. I can't run across the street nor hop a bus either but I still can walk with a cane and go to lunch with children and grand and great grand children. God Bless you Linda.
God bless you right back, Mary Lou!
Hi Mary Lou- I relate so much to what you wrote! My body works totally differently than it did before cancer, but I'm 69, and it's getting harder and harder to tell the difference between before and after cancer and just my body getting older. I feel so grateful to be on the planet breathing in and out. My great aunt Georgia died in her 90s. She had a needlepoint saying on her wall "Old Age is not for Sissies" - I think disability is not for sissies either and I'm so happy to be a part of Sulieka's wonderful crew. 🫶
I’m glad that you’re here, Jeannine. I’m one year behind you, and also ancient after a slew of surgeries, procedures and the changes that come with them. That we’ve lived to tell is worthy of celebration! Thank you for what you shared here.
thank you JeannineBee9 , Gratitude will get you farther than you ever expected to go. I like your great aunt Georgia's saying. i'm also grateful to be breathing also, it beats the alternative, You are an overcome,
I find that each challenge presents its own unique set of obstacles, but at the heart of it, I remember this: “It’s not the mountains ahead that wear you out, it’s the grain of sand in your shoe.”
Suleika, I see you parasailing all over this life, touching down briefly for things like bone marrow biopsies and a lymphocyte infusion, but then you sail right back up, taking in everything your eyes can behold. What I’ve learned from you is how uniquely you view the world. Your perspective has been honed by leukemia but the world is so much more vibrant and thrilling because of it. I’m so thankful for your willingness to say the difficult things and share yourself so completely with everyone. ♥️
❤️❤️❤️
You nailed it here again too - thanks so much for being here.
I’m just thankful for every word written here. I’ve never felt so much a part of a wonderful gathering of folks whom I’ve never met. I feel like I know everyone.
Likewise!🫶
“Feet, what do I need you for when I have wings to fly?” -Frida ♥️
Rediscovering what brings me joy has been my intention lately. Taking time to notice, to observe the simple certainty of sunrise and sunset, to talk to my plants, to cook Persian foods for a good friend, to visit the local “Mediterranean (aka Middle Eastern)” market and marvel at the types of olives and goodies like fig jam and halva, lavash and Bulgarian feta...and the jars upon jars of spices....magical! I’ve discovered a new family restaurant called Habibi’s (Arabic for beloved). The people are delightful and the food cooked with love. Plus, baklava! And yes, I live with health stuff and have for decades. Now with menopause and a wonky thyroid, some days are full of grief (Good grief, Charlie Brown). There is something to be said for rediscovering fun in the midst of health challenges and for creativity and observing life in new ways however simple or grand. Keep savoring it all, Suleika Joon! Love to you, Jon, River and your magical family. ♥️🐾🎶💫📚
The simple certainty of sunrise and sunset. ❤️
So glad this observation resonates. ♥️ Merci.
That restaurant would happen to be in Evanston Illinois, would it?
I, too, am wrapping up a four week family holiday that was filled with celebration of life’s offerings: birthday parties, ocean swims and a full moon dancing across the sea. As I turn onto the last 36km of dirt road that returns me to our ranch nestled against the Coast Range mountains I can hear my vegetable garden overwhelmed by weeds and our hay meadows drying out under the hotter than normal Summer, screaming at me to attend to them immediately. I am not ready to return to “work”.
I am not ready. Then I notice the vibrant red of the painted cup lining the road, the magenta fireweed blossoms and sweet creamy daisy heads waving at me in the evening breeze - welcoming me home. The silence. The peace. And, I smile, filled with joy that I returned home in time to see these wildflowers, still blooming in spite of the July heat. It will take me 1:15 hours more to complete the last 18km of reentry. No rush. No worries. I will silence the screams. I will weed the garden and cut the hay. It will get done. One weed at a time. One hay bale at a time. One glorious breath at a time.
I, too, love hearing dispatches from your life in the wilds Pat. ❤️
Enjoy being back! I so love your part of the world. I may have mentioned this before but my three week trip on dirt roads through the Chilcotin in 1997 remains one of the highlights of my life.
Once again...I feel seen. Thanks for helping me feel less alone. Sending you all the good vibes for the “scanxiety” period. I know how challenging that time can be. ♥️
Nothing changes more than an aging body. Can’t sit through n the sun like I def to, my skin has changed, I’ve lost many friends. Even though their are some things I can no longer do, and during the summer having to cover use more than usual. Lots of letting go, but the joy is there. I can walk. Do exercises, and dance and dance has given me the most joy. Especially dancing to Jon’s new music, which is filled with joy! I’m not sleeping well because my stomach isn’t well, and I’m trying to take care of it even with the not knowing what’s happening to it, the joy is present. It just needs test like my body
Sending love to you Sherri!
Thank you Suleika!
Sherri,
I hope you feel better soon! Know that you bring inspiration to us. 💕
🙏💪🏽🌹
I have to say that since losing my husband last year, although the shock has worn off, I still find life difficult to navigate. I've always been fiercely independent but this is a different animal. I don't want to use the loss as a crutch or excuse or impairment but it's tough to find a purpose at this point in my life. For nearly 35 years my husband was my North Star and absent that, I feel rudderless. Sure I move, I think, I create, I resolve, but the adjustment of focus to self not other, remains stymieing.
You nailed it. For the past almost 9 years, and now, I am still searching for meaning following the death of my wife of 34 years. The Isolation Journals has been an immense help in correcting my course. I am still breathing, but while my rudder is awakening, I still have no sails. I wish you strength, love, and peace. One day we'll know what this is about.
Thanks for your kindness - I wish you the same in spades.
I lost a husband to brain cancer after 2 years of his being sick. No one’s journey after losing a spouse is the same but I will say what helped me, was finding friends who truly understand. Not everyone does because they have not lived it. I still had lonely days but I knew I was not alone, thanks to my friends.
I just want to also say he passed away in 2004. In 2009 I got married again to a wonderful man.
I haven’t faced that loss, but what you wrote sounds exactly the way I imagine I would feel, but maybe I’ll be the one to leave first. The older I get, the more “what-ifs” I have.
I’m so sorry for the loss of your dear North Star.
Prompt 252 - What does adaptation mean to you? How have you learned to live within limitation?
Adaptation, to me, means “going with the flow.” It is not succumbing to events, or not caring, but observing. Realizing that my perception of “reality” colors my path, control of my choices, decisions, responses, is still within my power. Therefore, a sense of limitation may challenge us to adapt, to observe the limitation in new ways and maybe compensate for it if we choose. The idea of limitation implies an idea of “normal.” But what is “normal”?
Normal is a frame of reference constructed from our belief system – what we have learned from our parents, teachers, others, and our world experiences, influenced by society and culture. A limitation is something that is not normal relative to this frame of reference. Change the frame of reference and what seems limiting might be viewed as normal. For example, a deaf child does not know there is such a thing as “hearing” and her silent world appears to her as normal. Those who have hearing may view her deafness as a limitation because they can hear, and she cannot. The deaf child adapts by observing and learning with a heightened visual sense. This world is her normal.
My response to a limited understanding of some experience along the journey is to step back, tell myself: “..well, that is interesting..”, and file that experience away for later consideration when I have learned more about it - which could take years.
So, you might ask, what is the point of all this? I believe that unless we are driven to learn, understand, and increase our awareness, limitation and adaptation make no sense. On the other hand, adaptation is a tactic to keep moving toward that goal, and the limitations we encounter are our teachers.
Adaptation and all the steps to acceptance and adaptation to a body that fought hard to live, survived sepsis, and had a big adjustment to make as it learned to do all the things it needed to do to live with damaged lungs, and weakened bones from high dose steroids. But, as my mother would have told me, life is all about adapting to things that are totally out of our control, putting one foot in front of the other, using aids like a wheelchair at times, but getting on with the business of life and finding that happiness isn’t in a perfect, strong body, but is about finding one’s way when the way seems blocked and coming out on the other side a newer, stronger mentally version of oneself. As Dory would say, “Just keep swimming” !
I love how you put this: "happiness is about...finding one's way when the way seems blocked." ❤️
I have worked continuously from early on until I neared my 70th birthday. Pushed my square self into a round hole during my univesity days in Limerick and Galway, I worked through the years of crippling Lupus, raised the kids alone until 43, secured my career, and fought for position in traditionally a man's occupation. I started my novel, moved to France and promptly broke my humerus in many places, tore tendons as well as caused inflamation in my elbow. My cousin in Beirut made the repair, but there was residual effects and with it; limitations. Pain has been my constant companion these many years. I have often wondered what life would be like without it, but in an aging body pain lurks in small, out-of-the-way places, tests my resolve, petitions my heart to push and see what this Philistine will do. I conjure up a specialist that speaks English as my French gets lost in translation. My body won't do the things I used to do yet in listening to all these Isolation Journals from all walks of life, all ages, many determined women, I can be joyful in our ability to find a peaceful place to rest our silent screams and find some clarity in this our limitation.
Determination is what I want for all of us. Accepting what may change in the process, but determination to try. Thank you for this post, Kate.
There is something about the concept of adaptation that is truly embracing life no matter where one is on the spectrum...as we all are. I think it is a philosophy of living. At every given point along the journey to believe one is doing the best one can, there is joy in knowing one can do better and that is by adaptation. I too am fully in my third trimester( of life) heading into unknown territory toward my end ... still years ahead I hope. And reading the stories of all of you, no matter where you are on the spectrum of adaptation , inspire me, bring joy to my heart and soul. Yes! Keep flying Suleika. Love you so much light and joy of the world.
Enjoying the small, my kitty- the lonely Loneliness-captivating memories-cultivating a garden. A path that is unknown-yet known-
Suleika, the pictures of your parasailing adventure took me back to my own flight, when I strapped in and leaped off a cliff with the pilot behind me telling me what to do. The Pacific Ocean loomed in front of me, the beach below became a distant sandy swath covered with tiny human figures. We weaved around the rocks projecting from the cliffs, a bit of a fright for me, but the pilot was skilled and we landed safely. The exhilaration stays with me to this day six years later.
Only a few months after my flying experience, I received my first diagnosis, and that was another type of cliff. This time there was no sail to catch the wind, no blue ocean to thrill my vision. This time I simply fell, and have been clawing my way back since.
I’ve been told I’m resilient, something that never crossed my mind in the “before days”, when I could plan my life according to my wishes and not what a nasty disease dictates. I fight the blues and what I call “the Terrors”, those feelings that creep in about what the future might bring. But it seems I win as I continue to cook and knit and garden and love and make plans for happy events.
What Britteny says is so true: There is no "other side" to some forms of challenge. (Many thanks for that statement and so many others that also ring true.) I have to monitor my fears, and not let the feeling of being trapped overwhelm me. I have to listen to my psychologist when she tells me about “acceptance”, something I fought for a long time. I have to recognize that this is the life I’ve been given and just do what I can to make it good.
Thanks. Life right now is hard, challenging, yet not without meaning. Your yes strengthens my yes. We yes on with courage, with the help of our friends. Thank God we are not alone.
"Your yes strengthens my yes." I love this.
Suleika and Brittany, holding the truths in one hand and two, moving forward and facing the unknown. To say that both your stories are inspiring would be an understatement! My daughter (now 22) suffers from a variety of "invisible illnesses," but that is her story to tell, not mine. Mine is how I have adapted, most times with patience, care and with an even keel on the outside. Her last semester of college, I drove her (45 min. drive) each day for her classes. I committed, deep in my heart, to notice things, to engage, to produce some work of creativity. It truly became my writer's retreat and also a place where I engaged with youth. It was, a glorious, difficult as hell (not all days were days she could complete, as the illnesses flared and we drove home with her in deep tears of pain and disappointment), and something I miss. I created my second book there, in the great halls of learning. I made friendships with professors and students. Most rewarding, was seeing my daughter in her thriving moments, not needing me. Living in the Limitations in Stillness and Might has become a silent mantra for me. I didn't have "words" for what I was doing, until today. Thank you, Suleika and Brittany, for those words, for this mantra.
Mary, how beautiful of you to recognize that the most rewarding was to see your daughter thrive, not needing you. That’s when you know you’ve been a great parent.
Melanie, thank you so much! I hope you know, how much your kind words mean to me.
What a wonderful experience with your brother. We will all be thinking of you next week. Sending infinite well wishes for a good outcome on your biopsy!