...a few weeks ago...
The screen door banged open, and little footsteps came thumping in to the kitchen where I was working on supper. I looked up, and the first thing I saw was a little flower. It was clutched in a grimy little-boy hand; there was a grin on the little-boy face as this offering was presented to me. Duly charmed, I thanked him and admired the flower. It was one of the last blooms of the year, from the hostas that line the edge of the walk. They are far past their prime (as is much of my garden and flower bed); but this bloom was exquisite. White flower, the petals shot through with purple down the centers and tipped with darker purple. Tiny curved stamens with purple ends--so intricate. All this beauty, extravagant beauty in hidden places. Why? I have no idea. But the reality of God’s extravagant abundance has been a nagging realization in the back of my mind for some weeks now--one of those ideas that didn’t quite lend itself to words until that tiny flower showed up in my son’s grubby little fist. Why put such extravagant beauty in a tiny flower that would not have been seen or examined if he had not picked it? Why pour such beauty into one tiny thing that would be appreciated and enjoyed by only two people--me and my little boy? Why pour such detail and beauty into all the myriad of flowers, trees, snowflakes, animals, and all the other things that no knowing and appreciative eye may ever see and marvel at?
...today...
The wind is blowing, endlessly, it seems. It has been so windy, for so many days that I really don’t remember when it started. It is a brilliant fall day--sun shining on the corn in the field across the road that is waiting for a combine. My little guy hopes he will be home from school to watch when they take that corn off...he loves combines. Heaven forbid they chop it for silage--silage choppers are okay; but even the biggest and best silage chopper is not a combine in its bright green John Deere or red International splendor. Some children get excited about Christmas, or summer vacation...this boy loves harvest time.
The weather has turned cold; there is a bite in the air. The wind drives the chill through to one’s bones. The skin on the backs of my hands has started to dry and crack almost overnight--the day the wind started, I think. The sound of the wind seems to have brought with it a melancholy and weariness of soul. Winter is coming. What has happened to the green fragrance of growing things; where have our beautiful days of Indian summer gone?
“...it is autumn and beautiful as everything is it is the beauty of decay--the sorrowful beauty of the end.” --L. M. Montgomery
Life here at home, with all the beauty of autumn around us, has been full of weariness and a great fear in my heart. How much of this fear is born of a long-standing anxiety disorder and how much is simply an intuition of something being wrong? I have been on close terms with both possibilities. Two years ago, when I sank into a deep depression, I was terrified of so many things. One fear was a nameless terror for the well-being of my youngest child and my husband. Not that I was unconcerned for my two other children, but there seemed to be something different about my youngest that I had not yet put my finger on. About a year later, I began to put the pieces of the puzzle together. His autism diagnosis explained many of my fears for his safety. Knowing does not change the facts, but instead of a nameless fear I now have a valid reason for caution and vigilance with him. His “safety and survival” mechanism seems to be broken. All six year olds have a tendency to do things that aren’t necessarily safe, but my little guy has a burning need to be on the edges of things, particularly high things such as the tops of bleachers and other places from which he could fall and hurt himself badly. Anyway, it was a bit of a relief to know I was not being paranoid...well, I was being paranoid, but it felt better to know that i had a good reason to be vigilant.
My nameless fear for my husband was different. I could not put my finger on it other than that, for years, he has had genetically high cholesterol, asthma, and sleep apnea. Putting the three of them together is not a healthful combination. But he takes his meds, uses a breathing machine at night, and on the whole is in pretty decent shape for the shape he is in. If something seems off, and I ask him about it, he often reassures me (in a rather annoyed tone of voice) that he is fine. But about two weeks ago, when about a quarter of the vision in his right eye was suddenly gone, something obviously was not fine. We spent about a week making the rounds of various eye doctors, specialists, and tests, to see why. And I was more frightened than I had been for two years. Did not want to eat, did not want to talk, just wanted everything to be okay.
He had had a stroke in the eye, caused by a bleed. Nothing definitive showed on the tests to say exactly why it had happened. No blockages showed up; no major diseases such as lyme’s or multiple sclerosis, which we were told he needed to be checked for as they can sometimes cause such an event. The final word from the neuro ophthamologist was that he sees this particular scenario in patients with sleep apnea at times--there is an incident where one stops breathing during sleep which causes blood loss to the eye, and what happened to my hubby is not unheard of. He may or may not get some of the vision back. It takes a few months for the eye to heal, and till then he will not know. The other eye was unaffected; which is good. However, it could happen in the other eye as well, which could leave him with more disabling vision loss.
So we were left with a level of uncertainty. There is only so much a person can control. He was sent home with instructions to manage his cholesterol and blood pressure; to be more careful what he ate and to begin a regular exercise program (although he is far from inactive); and to be careful to wear his breathing machine while sleeping. But beyond that, it is really beyond our control. I have to be okay with that.
But oh, that frightening window of time, between the time when we first knew that something was wrong, until we ruled out the most serious possibilities of what could be. My mind ran in circles that week, wondering if this was the beginning of the end of our life together. All my faults that have driven him crazy over the years, all the times I had not been the most awesome wife ran through my head. But I had to pull my racing mind up short...I couldn’t allow it to do that...I would drive myself mad. I had to think of the good times, for we have had far more good times than bad times. But that too was heart-breaking when the uncertainty loomed in the back of my mind. Somehow, over those days, I came to some sort of peace. By the time we went for the last tests, I was afraid but not terrified. If something were seriously wrong, if this was truly the beginning of the end, we had a good run. We had laughed and loved, fought and made up, had three beautiful children in whom we take much pride and delight. Oh, that everyone should be so blessed.
I had to let go, had to peel my grasping little fingers off my husband‘s arm. My greatest fear, of course, was of something life-threatening. But I also had to let go of my expectation of him being able-bodied--what if he had lost more of his vision, been unable to drive or work? I have to face the fact that it could happen. I have to learn to be okay with the possibility. How often do I hang on too tightly to people or things that I love? One afternoon as I was fighting to keep my mind from going to dark places, God and I had a serious fight over this...me saying, “please don’t take him away from me;” and God saying, “Do you love Me more? Enough to give him to Me?”
None of us knows how much time we have, or what a day will bring forth. The thought of giving up those I love still breaks my heart if i think about it...so I often don’t, unless the possibility stares me in the face. But I know that, as much as I love each of them, He loves them more. He clothes the lilies of the field and the hostas in my flower bed with such beauty. Not a sparrow falls to the ground that He does not see. I can trust Him, my God Who puts exquisite beauty in hidden places. How much more will He make our lives, our pain and heartache, and the hidden sacrifices that only He sees, beautiful in His time?
