Just the other day a friend said to me, “You know you’re a walking miracle, right?” I smiled and said, “Of course,” knowing that I have regained much more since my brain surgery than the doctors expected. (That seems like a miracle for sure!)
But in truth, I had forgotten. Yet… how can being a miracle slip my mind? How can I forget to be grateful for being alive?
I had spent the first two years after my surgery high on all the small, constant improvements that I saw in my abilities. I worked hard at my therapies with perseverance and drive. There were days when I would feel depressed or get discouraged, but I never let those times slow me down for long.
For the first two years, the reliable pattern was this: I would work hard and do what I was told by doctors and therapists, and I would be rewarded by gaining back some skill–holding a pen to write, walking without a cane–that the surgery had taken away.
Because of my small successes, I began to feel as if I had some bits of wisdom and words of comfort to offer others facing a difficult situation. “If just one person has their pain eased by talking to me–if I can help just one person feel better–then everything I have gone through is worthwhile.” That’s what I constantly told myself and anyone else who will listen.
The night that Adan, my second son, was born, one of the pastors from my church came to visit me in the hospital. I told him that the only reason that God had healed me was to show the world that anything is possible, that He can do anything, and that miracles still happen. I felt lucky, blessed, honored.
While I still believe that, I realize today that I have come to accept my limitations as my “new normal.” What I once worked so hard for–the ability to stand in the shower or drive to work–have become everyday activities. All that I have accomplished makes it easy to forget how hard I worked and how lucky I am.
But it’s good to be reminded.