Hannah L Stone

this is where I write the light



Growing up we always got strange and unexplainable Christmas gifts from our Grandmother.  Gifts we that made us wonder what she was thinking, why she decided this was The Gift.  Gifts that became family legends and make us laugh still to this day.

But at the time, they were gifts we didn’t know what do with.

I had surgery last week to remove my no longer functioning gallbladder.  I generally like to move from one thing straight to the next and not get waylaid in the land of in-between.

Like how I want winter to last until New Years and then transport us to the doorstep of spring.  The left over of winter has no celebrations or sparkly lit decorations to distract my eyes from the cold and gray.  Just winter – which maybe is a gift I don’t know what to do with.

Like finding myself in this land of recovery.  I can not go straight from the operating room right back into life as usual, as much as I would like to.  Instead, I find myself in a land of slow going and depleted energy level where my body needs to rest more to facilitate healing.  A land of pain and recuperating and letting others do what I would normally do myself.  Which maybe is a gift I don’t know what to do with.

If I went straight from New Yeas winter day immediately into springs embrace, I would miss the winter sunsets that kiss the horizon, stretching out the days in agonizing increments toward the lush golden light of summer.

I might not know what to do with this gift of recovery, but I know, even in my annoyance of it’s slowness, that it is a gift.  That the increment of these days will ultimately lead me into something I don’t even know is coming, something better than my imagined jump right back into the frying pan of life.

Finding myself in the unexpected land of recovery is a gift I don’t know what to do with, and honestly, currently don’t fully appreciate.  But it is a gift, and I’ll try to look at it through that filter, knowing it will teach me things I need to know.

Leave comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked with *.