Four months ago today I was admitted into the hospital after tests showed my heart was extremely damaged. I am still very much in recovery mode yet I have improved in ways unexpected by my doctors. I absolutely believe that my heart is healing from receiving so much prayer, love and support. I am learning how to listen to my body and pace myself. I feel like my body aged twenty years overnight. There are many things I cannot do. For example, I don’t think it would be wise to go on roller coasters quite yet! I probably could get away with “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride” or, “It’s a Small World.”
In many ways the past four months have been like riding a roller coaster. My cardiologist warned me over and over that depression is a very real thing during recovery from a heart condition. While I have not gone into a full on depression, I have definitely had my moments! My life changed in a moment. There was no leading up to it, no planning for it, it just happened. I thought I had bronchitis, I learned I had a serious heart condition and then everything changed. My friend, Bill Faris did a talk on Transitions. I have heard him give it a few times. His thoughts have come back to me many times in the past few months, “Change is something that happens to people, even if they don’t agree with it. Transition, on the other hand, is internal: it’s what happens in people’s minds as they go through change. Change can happen very quickly, while transition usually occurs more slowly.” Bridges’ Transition Model
Change happened to me quickly. Transition is very much where I find myself today. The first stage of transition is ending and letting go. There is a lot of letting go. Letting go is painful. It is like little deaths. Little deaths physically, emotionally, socially and in many other ways have come. Some have come rather abruptly and harsh while others came in the most gentle way. This letting go is teaching me. Teaching me to surrender, to live in mystery and know that there is not always an answer. Teaching me to name my fear, my anger and sadness. Teaching me that confusion and disorientation is not my new normal but a way through. Teaching me to name and grieve the loss. Teaching me to create a lot of space for the unknown. Teaching me that it is okay to color for hours, kiss my grandkids every moment I can and to say “Thank you” over and over throughout the day when I realize how loved and blessed I am.
I am in no hurry.
No place I’d rather be