How does one feel when given the news that she has a rare, incurable disease?
First, there is puzzlement and shock which might be mixed with relief, if she's been searching for answers for months or years.
Then, grit and determination.
Then, loss and grief.
Then, acceptance.
Acceptance is the lynchpin.
That which keeps the wheel on the axle, going round and round, to carry the weight of the wagon to its next destination.
That which keeps the wheel on the axle, going round and round, to carry the weight of the wagon to its next destination.
Acceptance flips the initial shock, determination, grief.
With acceptance comes resolve.
Determination returns, but not so lofty as before.
Loss and grief again follow, deeper than the initial round.
Which brings another layer of acceptance.
Acceptance that she can no longer participate like she once could.
She recounts her life, weighing its worth.
What, of merit, has she accomplished?
When she struggles to find value in real time due to her disabled circumstance, her heart recalls its first love -- the mountains, the woods, the open sky, the earth and its wonders.
And her heart is comforted.
For she has loved Gaia, and Gaia has loved her.
Even if I can never again be with the trails I love so dearly, I am gifted with rich memories that bring me joy, that lift my confidence, that bring me peace.
And there is human motherhood, of which I am most proud, my children.
I recently attended a Zoom gathering.
I felt seen. I felt comfortable in my own skin.
Oh girl, wouldn't it be great to feel that way every day?
But, that's not how skin works.
~*~
~*~
11/17/24
A few days after penning Acceptance, another "A" word came to mind: adaptation...
Perhaps it is the lynchpin instead of acceptance...
~*~
