Greetings and salutations. Most people begin each morning by asking how your night was. My answer this morning would be, rather crappy. I woke up at 1:00 in insulin shock, not an uncommon problem for a Type 1 diabetic, but it doesn’t leave you feeling great, and it interrupts the night’s rest. Then, to add insult to injury, I woke up at 5 once again on the low side of normal for a diabetic. Feeling a bit disgruntled, I shut off my trusty insulin pump which was not currently being my friend. Then I did my best to try to go back to sleep, since I was already feeling a bit tired. ‘Twas all to no avail. Instead I lay there and thought about all of the negative things going on in my life.
I suspect we are all having those kind of moments lately. Everywhere we look it appears to be a disaster, joy of latter-day mode. I watch the news, then I have to watch something funny, because the world is in constant turmoil. You go out and about, and a lot of people (not everyone, thank heavens) are being less than cheerful. Everyone is struggling with something, health, loss of a loved one, financial distress, etc. Life is currently less than fun.
But when I glance back over my life, I realize, it’s pretty much been that way most of the time. There have always been challenges. Like when I was five and I was intrigued by the space race that was going on in the world. I remember dumping the toys out of a gallon ice cream container, that back then (1960’s) resembled a cardboard drum. My creative mother decided those were awesome things to store toys in, so I had a few of them in my closet. That morning I dumped one out, toted it out to the hallway in our brand new brick home (we had just moved in a couple of months previous to this event) and set it carefully on my mother’s pride and joy, the shiny hardwood floor. She kept these floors polished and looking sharp at all times.
I ran into the main bathroom, also located in the hall, and retrieved an item I needed, so excited for this new game that I was making up as I went. Taking a deep breath, I tipped the ice cream container upside down, stood on it (I was short back then, too) and it became my launching pad. My mother remembered working in the kitchen and hearing my countdown from the hallway. “10, 9, 8 . . .”
She wondered what I was up to, but shrugged it off until the power glitched and she heard me scream. When I reached “1 . . . 0 . . . blastoff,” I shoved a metal barrette into an electrical outlet, and had impressive results. Fire shot out of the outlet. It burned my arm and a portion of my mother’s hardwood floor until she was able to knock me away from certain death with a wooden broom.
I survived this adventure, but learned some hard lessons. First, electricity was not my friend, fire burns wood, including hardwood floors, and using my imagination was not always a good thing.
My arm healed, but there was no way to repair the damage done to the hardwood floor in the hall. A nice new, long rug was placed over the scorch marks, and eventually, carpet covered the hallway. All of it served as a reminder that I needed to think things through a bit better. And because of what I learned about electrical outlets, I protected my younger siblings from following in my footsteps. If I saw any of them approaching an outlet, I reminded them of what had happened to me.
My outlet experience was a learning curve. I suspect the same is true for what most of us are enduring now. These are indeed times when we have to pick ourselves up, dust off, and continue on with the journey that lies ahead as best we can. It’s important to learn from what we’ve been through, and to use that hard-earned knowledge to help others who may walk a similar path.
My paternal grandmother used to tell me this world is a giant classroom, and that we never know when we’re going to be hit with a pop quiz. She was right. And I think we know that fact deep down. We are here in part to learn and grow. Sadly, some lessons hurt worse than others. I’m still digging out from under the landslide our family endured during our oldest son’s cancer adventure. After he passed from mortal mode, I couldn’t read for nearly a year. I would try, but when I found myself reading the same paragraph five or six times I gave up. This was an annoying challenge since reading has always been one of my favorite pastimes. And that went hand in hand with not being able to write, also a favored endeavor. I learned from a wise friend that sometimes, this kind of thing goes along with the grieving process (Thank you, Judy), and that it will get better, but it takes time. She was right. Life is different now, and some days still hurt, but I am doing my best to push ahead, taking things one step at a time. The important part is to never give up.
I am grateful for those who have stepped in to help me—some challenges require a helping hand, much like the day my mother saved my life by knocking me away from the outlet with a broom. We were never meant to walk alone in this journey through life. And for that, I will be forever grateful. And as we reach out to help others, our own pain seems to lessen. So when bad days happen, take a deep breath, ponder about what is really important, and then push forward. As I have always found in my life, as we do so, we will see that there are others out there who need our help. And as we help them, our own hearts will start to heal. Part of the famed circle of life.
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