Acceptance

It's taken me a long time to begin to accept that I will always be struggling. Struggling to make enough money to cover the bills, struggling to walk and struggling to accept my life.

I'm coming up on two years since I got hurt. A lot has changed in those two years, and its been hard. The axiom is change is hard.  The reality is that some change is incredibly harder than other.  The struggle to protect my children, the struggle to provide, the struggle to find my way are so much harder than I ever thought. I don't wish it on anyone.

I've yet to see the silver lining of the overall situation.  Do I understand being disabled better?  Yep, but did I ever not feel compassion for the disabled?  Did I ever forget being poor as a child? No, not ever. I can't say that I ever harassed or persecuted the poor, homeless or disabled.

So I've learned to accept the struggle. I've learned that the mark of a successful weekend is intense pain of bones grinding against bones like a century-old person. I wish for nothing more than to curl up and not exist. Tear-inducing pain is my measure of physical success.  My week is for recovery.  Its a crippled take on the weekend warrior.

I miss a lot of my old life. I miss the everyday adventure of finding the world with my children. I miss filling the boredom with little trips and explorations. Its only been two years, and yet they've already forgotten many of the places we went and things we did. I miss the opportunities. I mourn the lost memories. I mourn the lost opportunities.

Part of mourning is acceptance. Accepting doesn't mean that we forget. It just means that we realize that we can't change how things happened. And its hard.