A year ago, in an accident, I cut several fingers.
They have now all healed.
I still have five fingers.
They still type and tie my shoes and button my buttons, but they are not the same. Scar tissue in two of my fingers feels different, and will always feel different, from the normal tissue in my other fingers.
And, a week ago, I had partial knee replacement surgery.
The surgery went well, but now the healing begins.
Daily exercises to force my knee to bend.
Concentrating on walking normally, though my knee will never be normal again.
Like with my fingers, I am reminded that healing is hard work.
Pushing through the pain.
Forcing myself to do what I need to do to function again as I want to be able to.
But no matter how much I do, my knee, like my fingers, will never again be like they were. I will be able to walk, but not to run. I will be able to hike, but not to backpack. I am learning to come to grips with what is important and to take what I can get.
Feeling my fingers and forcing my new knee to bend makes me think about my Mom.
Two months ago her husband (and my Dad) died.
They had been married for 64 years.
I miss my Dad and think about him nearly every day, but I can’t imagine what it is like for my Mom. She is doing what she can and what she needs to be doing, but nothing she does today will make it again as it was. Whatever new emerges for her, will always have the feel of scar tissue. And the bending and pushing she is doing to reshape her life will never recreate what she knew for so long.
Healing is hard.