Gratitude for that which we often take for granted.
That is what my children's long injuries and long recoveries have taught me. That and life is all a lesson of moving closer to the grace of acceptance of circumstance.
Especially the difficult ones.
And love.
We are a family of nature loving, trail walkers and most often (due to homeschooling and my partner's full time employment) it is our three, almost grown- up children and me on the trail.
But it feels as though it has been a long time since everyone has been able to trail walk together.
Indeed a long time it has been.
Two years ago this month (Sept 2018) our youngest daughter suffered a devastating, very serious knee injury at her first day back at dance after a summer off (and an equally devastating injury to her sense of self as dancer/performer) which required many, many months of intense rehabilitation to get her back on her feet again. By January of 2019 she was back for 15 mins at at time in low intensity dance as part of her return to normalcy. In late April of that same year she was back hiking on one of the trails in Bonshaw with our extended family to celebrate Easter weekend. It was a joyful experience to partake in. Her phenomenal dedication to her own well being and strengthening was inspirational to say the least. Last winter (Feb 2020) she rejoined our family on the skating rink, gliding and laughing in the frosty nightime air on the rink my brother and my husband made together for us all to share.
Winter bliss. A return.
Well, for some of our family.
Our son was unable to skate last winter due to an inguinal hernia injury he sustained in late Autumn 2019. To get out of the house he often came along to sit and watch his two sisters skate along with their little cousins who were just learning to stay upright with increasing confidence. We expected (hoped) he would have his operation to repair his injury in early to late spring then along came a pandemic halting all non-urgent procedures. Unable to walk more than the length of our short street, our outdoor adventure loving, birder/nature photographer lad who would normally pass many hours in the field had to learn to find joy in short moments spent on clay roads at water's edge, or window birdwatching from the passenger seat. He stood pondside with his Beppa (my mom) while my dad (Pud) and I did the walking on the Bain bird count in late May. He was simply grateful to be in the warm spring air doing something he loved with people he loves. He missed the beaches altogether this summer but gazed upon the sea at every chance he had.
Keeping the spirits up is of great import when you are dealing with serious limitations at such a young age. At times it is easier said than done. Thankfully he could lift the weight of his guitar (not its case) and was able to fulfill his summertime job playing jazz five days a week outdoors on Victoria Row all summer with some of his bandmates. (See his dad's take on being his roadie for the summertime here)
Three weeks ago he finally had his surgery. And thank goodness! It went well but not without its difficulties following. (Released less than two hours post surgery and passing out in our family bathroom and requiring paramedics is no-one's idea of a great start to recovery). But a few days ago we got him up to a flat part of a nearby trail where he could smell the wildflowers and hear birdsong without smelling car exhaust.
Sensory infused soul nourishment and it beat doing laps of our living room.
He was/is still a bit hobbly wobbly but is improving much each day. Having all five of us on the trail for even a few short minutes as we ventured further than Lucas was able to walk without difficulty since almost a full year ago felt magnificent. He heard a Nuthatch, well actually heard/saw more birds in five minutes than I would in a week. We looked at Pink Earth, late blooms of goldenrod, pearly everlasting and purple aster. He pointed out the dead, still standing snag he saw a Barred Owl perched on that he took my willing dad through waist deep snow to see a number of years back.
Someone had widened the apple tree trail for dirt biking since we were there last. Squashed all the tall grasses actually. Their tire tracks worked the gravel above the grassy hill into fine, raised piles exposing the red soil beneath. We joked about how we might not be able to get out of the biker's way were they to come blazing around the corner flinging gravel dust like the time they almost took out our oldest daughter and her dad when they were out quietly walking there.
Thankfully it remained quiet this day.
Progress, progress, mostly steady, always changing, slow but gaining, progress. Grateful.
But life is never neat and tidy is it?
Sometimes when you least expect it or least feel prepared to face it, life scrapes you out like a jack o'lantern, and leaves you all burnt out and crooked smiling. This has happened too, of late, mixed in together- devastating difficulty and reminders of goodness both.
What to do?
Keep walking and keep breathing.
And smile when and where we can.
And remember we are practiced at making returns.
I plan to make squash soup with what remains of me and with our eldest daughter's amazing garden *squash harvest and work step by step, like each of my beloved three children has so beautifully taught me, slowly moving towards the gift of healing.
Bowing to grace filled moments of return such as these recent trail walking days.
In warmth and sunshine,
Hurricanes and trembling,
Ever grateful,
Be well,
Jill
* we wondered half the summer which variety of squash we had growing in one of the new beds my husband built last spring--Maria figured it out one day--of course, they are the Lower Salmon River Squash from the amazing PEI Seed Alliance. As soon as our new stove arrives next week, those sweet darlings will be filling our kitchen with their warm fragrance. Can't wait. So thankful!
So beautiful, Jill