Difficult composure

Since my dad passed away last August I’ve been in a terrible rheumatoid arthritis flare. It’s the stress from the grief that’s doing it and there has been a lot to deal with. So many things are playing in my mind. The biggest thing is really coming to terms with my dad’s absence. That’s really hard to do. I want him to call out to me to get something or even just to find him watching the TV or pouring over Sudoku. It’d be a bit of normalcy then.

The flare has been quite dreadful, if I’m honest. There are points where I wonder if I’ll walk again. I’m so grateful for the days where I hit a high step count or close all the rings on my Apple Watch fitness tracker. Big wins! It has been really difficult. I’ve had to skip church quite a bit because I’m in way too much pain. I’m so grateful for the service that’s streamed live. I’ve had to stop some friends from coming over on some days and I’ve had to decline going over when asked. I’m very grateful for the graciousness that I’ve been met with. There are phone calls and messages that I’m thankful for. Really grateful.

Something triggered the memory of the time my dad was knocked down by a motorcyclist. This was absolute ages ago. I remember my mum calling me. I remember panic and calm- such a strange combination of feelings. They blank out a lot of other things going on. I remember how we came together, the three of us, as a family. There are things I had to do – like sit in a room with my dad overnight in hospital as they were understaffed, and drain the flow of blood from the wound of surgery. The steadiness of my hands shocked me, and even the doctors and nurses who attended at varying points had good comments. My mum saw the collapse – the jumble of nerves and fear within me came out before her. How she encouraged me. My dad eventually came through (after some challenges). He never gave up. God saw us through. Battered, perhaps. Exhausted, for sure. Thankful, definitely.

I don’t know if these memories have triggered the flare I’m dealing with now. There are joints in my fingers that I have very clear knowledge of. Some of these should never be known. My ankles look like they’ve seen better days, and I can see the disfigurement slowly happening. I’ve said goodbye to gorgeous shoes. There’s nothing elegant about this disease. There’s nothing about it to like. No saving grace. My mum passed on well before I was diagnosed. Her biggest fear was that I would get what she had. She never wanted it for me. My father dealt with it. Resolute and quiet. He said things at the right time. In my previous job, which I absolutely loved, I had zero space where I could fit in a doctor’s appointment. I was part of a small team and whenever someone was away, the rhythm of the team faltered. So I kept pushing back doctor’s appointments and for almost a year after being diagnosed, did nothing. My father’s quiet words came ringing through loud and clear. I knew what needed to be done. I left the job, did some freelance work, while attending to my illness. It was time that I am grateful for. I read up, spoke to doctors, joined support groups, and got educated on my illness, its unpredictability, and speciality in ravaging the human body. I shared a lot of this with my dad. It felt like we were able in hindsight to even make sense of a lot of what had happened to my mum. The learning in this area is astounding now in comparison to what it was when my mum suffered.

I’ve been struggling to figure out what it was about the memories triggered that have been playing in my mind. Not everything was bad. My mother’s RA was extremely severe. I remember when my dad was prepped for surgery, both mum and I met him before he was wheeled off to the operating theatre. My mum wasn’t able to walk alongside as they wheeled him off, but she asked me to go. I was conscious I was walking away from her to accompany my dad, but I could sense her calm composure. I held my dad’s hand as I walked alongside but we came to final doors and I couldn’t go through. My dad’s final words to me at that point were that it was okay and to trust in God. When I think about it, it was more calm composure.

I’m not saying that my parents never had moments of panic or despair. They did. The memories I have of the time of this accident remind me of the highs and lows we had as a family. Just the three of us at core, dealing with things with lots of grace shown to us through others around. I remember the worries I had – whether my dad would ever drive again, whether I’d be able to manage both mum and dad if my dad wasn’t going to be mobile as before, etc. There were a lot of worries. I remember how my mum and dad dealt with some of these fears I shared over games of scrabble or tea time chats. There was a steely grit. They weren’t interested in fluffy cliches that got thrown our way. They constantly reminded me that we cannot predict the future but that we were in God’s Hands.

I think this is the reminder that’s really striking me. In my church, we’re in the middle of a sermon series from the gospel of Matthew. I’ve been pondering on Jesus’ interactions with a Canaanite woman (Matthew 15: 21-28), and Jesus’ warning about the leaven of the Pharisees and the Sadducees (Matthew 16: 1-12). These bits of scripture are really speaking to me. As I deal with pain from my RA (triggered by grief), there are constantly many ‘words of wisdom’ that come my way. In my exhaustion, I have to deal with people who may be well-meaning but end up being more damaging, who tell me about all sorts of remedies, treatments, lifestyles, etc. The list is long. I’m often judged when I say I don’t want to know about a lot of these things. Most of these are quack remedies that don’t deal with the root problem, though they are often wrapped in legitimate terminology). They will not help. I can’t help but think of the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees. Wrong teachings from scripture, things that are out of context, though may sound legit and sweet, don’t feed. They don’t nurture the soul and they cannot save. However, scripture in context can be hard hitting. It may not always be sweet sounding – just read the interaction with the Canaanite woman. Hard and unpopular as it may be, it saves.

I think this is what’s in my mind as I reflect on this past memory of my dad’s accident. When we came together as a family, it was based on God’s Word. We didn’t know the outcomes. As memory serves, my parents weren’t overcome by this challenge. We had heaps of grace. I reflect on this as I struggle to even put my full weight on my feet today. My step count for the day will suffer. Typing this out has been hard too- very slow in comparison to my usual speed. Yet I have such a song in my heart. It’s a song of hope. I’m singing it to Jesus who has time after time shown me that He is my constant. I’m not sure how it’s going to be after this. My whole world is upside down because of grief. This illness is another factor. I want to remember that ‘even the dogs eat the crumbs that fall from their master’s table’ (Matthew 15: 27). Thanks to Jesus, I now am guaranteed a place at the table. It will be more like how it is for Gamora at the table! This is a difficult time, but I’m thankful that I don’t have to be afraid or figure it all out.

Papa and mummy, it is hard without you. Thank you for what you taught me.