Dairy Good Life

Out of the darkness

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It’s been one month since my shoulder surgery, and it’s been one wildly emotional month.

The first two weeks were easier than I expected. The initial pain was manageable thanks to the wonders of modern pharmaceuticals and lots of ice. I spent quite a bit of time in the recliner rotating through ice packs with one of our cats purring on my legs. At one point, Daphne said, “Mom, you’re sitting down again? Before your surgery, I never saw you sit down.” I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Sometimes I wonder if it would be more normal to be able to sit and relax for a bit without feeling a pressing need to be “doing something productive.” Perhaps then I wouldn’t have lined up a number of inside projects to tackle during my post-surgical house arrest.

The kids were home for Christmas vacation, so there was always someone around to help. We were able to gather with my family for Christmas. After cancelling Christmas last year due to work schedules and illnesses, it was extra special to be together for a weekend.

Between our kids, our employees, and our friends, Glen has had enough help with the farm chores. We’re keeping the house running, too. The kids have taken over most of the cooking – there’s not much I can do in the kitchen with one arm – and they’ve done a great job keeping us fed. A couple of thoughtful friends brought homemade meals over, which helped us get through some extra busy days. I can do a fair bit of the laundry with one arm, so nobody’s had to wear dirty socks to school.

But then a bucket of water was dumped on my fire and all at once, I was surrounded by darkness.

Surgery alone could have doused my fire, but I had braced myself for its impact. January itself can put a damper on flames, with its lack of daylight and tendency to keep us indoors.

The bucket of water on my fire, though, was the death of my dear friend Jacqui’s husband, Keith. Even though I had known for some time that Keith would be taken from us far too young, my grief was still intense. Grief is like that: there’s no way to truly prepare for it. More than any other emotion, grief can douse even the strongest of flames.

Once the flame is out, the darkness that has been kept at bay moves in. All of the feelings that lurk in the darkness seem to attack at once. Along with grief, the strongest feelings this time have been frustration – at my current inability to do some of the most basic tasks and chores. Impatience – at how long it takes to do the things I can. And that perennial scourge: inadequacy. Feeling like I’m not doing enough; I’m not getting enough done; I’m not enough. It’s like once the dark feelings start in on you, even darker feelings emerge from the deepest places.

Once the light is gone, you stumble around in the darkness aimlessly, without direction. Getting the bare minimum done each day, the days slip by with seemingly nothing accomplished. The lack of desire to do anything more than the minimum feeds the dark feelings. It starts to feel like you might never emerge from the darkness again.

Thankfully, though, there were still embers smoldering and I knew what I needed to do to coax them into flames.*

I had a good talk with Jacqui. My sister called – sometimes I think sisters just know when we need them.

I started walking laps inside the house. Movement has an incredible impact on how I feel. It would be much better to get outside for some fresh air and sunshine, but it’s 25 degrees below zero right now. Before this cold snap, I was taking advantage of the fact that our gravel road is still gravel and not packed ice.

I took a hot bath. I took a sauna. I put on some upbeat music. I did as much yoga as I could with one arm. I said out loud the dark thoughts I had been trying to keep quiet.

I reminded myself of what is going well: how helpful our kids have been; how committed our employees have been; how pleased my physical therapist is with how my shoulder is healing. 

I reminded myself of what I can do: I’ve been able to watch more of the kids’ wrestling meets than ever before. I’ve had more time to wrap up our year-end financial records.

I reminded myself that resting and healing are productive work. The sooner I recover, the sooner I can get back out to the barn and back to everything else that requires two arms.

*Sometimes we need more than friends, family, self-care, and self-talk to rekindle the fire. Or to help us process our grief. Sometimes we need someone to teach us how to restart the fire. I worked with a counselor during the dark times brought on by post-partum depression, the losses of family members, and other buckets of water. The more you restart the fire, the easier it gets.

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