Whisper to shout

I love the final scene of The Shawshank Redemption.  Truly, I love many of its scenes (one of the instances where a movie is better than the book, though I also appreciate the Stephen King novella), but over the last several days I can hear Red’s closing lines in my head:

“I find I’m so excited I can barely sit still or hold a thought in my head.  I think it’s the excitement only a free man can feel.  A free man at the start of a long journey whose conclusion is uncertain.  I hope I can make it across the border.  I hope to see my friend and shake his hand.  I hope the Pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams.  I hope.”

I love that the very last thing you hear is an almost whispered I hope, in Morgan Freeman’s indelible voice.  That movie helped me to say I hope, during a time when I desperately needed it.

When I was writing part II of my new life story, it felt like that whispered I hope.  I was trying to say what I felt, it seemed important at this particular time, but it also felt terribly bare, vulnerable, heavy, even for an old guts-spiller like me.  And then Emily made that first comment and it felt lighter.  And in just under a half-hour, that somber whisper was replaced with a (Facebook) shout and can-barely-sit-still excitement, which is where I find myself still.  I’m excited.  Crazy excited.  But also, patient-excited.  I can tell that things are on the horizon that are going to be stretching, but joyous . . . but I recognize that they’re better left on the horizon for right now.

There’s a part III to this new story, but it’s still in bits and pieces floating around in my psyche.  But oh, how happy I feel this week!  So much happier than I did during those months of gridlock.  Acceptance is a remarkable thing; I wish I could make myself realize that sooner.

“Other compensating doors . . . “

As I was processing old papers a week or so ago, I found this quote I recorded during church a few years ago:

It will free you from the dead ends of your own reasoning.

Naturally I wanted to know what “it” was, so I googled the quote to figure out where it came from.  It turns out it’s from a 1995 talk by Elder Richard G. Scott called “Trust in the Lord.”  I read it on Sunday and the first lines really hit me:

It is so hard when sincere prayer about something we desire very much is not answered the way we want. It is especially difficult when the Lord answers no to that which is worthy and would give us great joy and happiness.

I’m certain I heard Elder Scott deliver this talk live, if for no other reason than my family always went to every. single. session. of General Conference.  Always.  I have to admit that for years I did not find Elder Scott a particularly compelling speaker; I think I tended to tune him out in comparison to some others (like President Eyring, my favorite).  But my feeling has changed in recent years as he has talked more about his family, especially the deaths of two of his children (within weeks of each other) and his wife.  I relate to him more now as someone that has experienced and coped with deep loss, rather than simply a lecturer, which, fair or not, he always seemed to me to be before.

Later in the talk, he says this:

I testify that when the Lord closes one important door in your life, He shows His continuing love and compassion by opening many other compensating doors through your exercise of faith.

Wow, that spoke right to me!  In that brief moment, I had this vision of what some of the “compensating doors” in my life may be for that one very important door that appears to be closing.  While they are things that  Neal and I have discussed intermittently for years, the pieces seemed to fit together in a new way now that I have accepted other realities of my life.  A sweet calm came over me, reminding me that I will love many other children even though they won’t all be “mine” in the same way Addison (sort of) is.  And for a few wonderful hours, I felt more than mere acceptance but genuine excitement for what the future holds.

Acceptance

This is a follow-up to the “Stages” post from earlier today, so read that first for context.

I well remember a conversation I had with my buddy Matt at least 7 or 8 years ago.  Although I can’t recall all the details, I was debating whether to use my wheelchair at a certain event.

[A short history of my wheelchair: from 1999-2000, I used it often (often enough that I even named it Wapiti, though I have a vague memory of having spelled it Wahpidi); from 2001-2003, I used it regularly for getting around BYU campus and bigger events; from 2003 on, I used it only for museums, sporting events, airports, and amusement parks since they require more walking than I can handle at one time.]

Back to the conversation:  I didn’t really want to use my wheelchair for this particular event because, honestly, it was always awkward.  I cannot even explain how much people stared at me. (Someone once told me, “Oh, you probably just think people are staring at you.”  Then they pushed me through an airport and said, “People really are staring at you!”)  Nobody expects to see a healthy-looking teenager (I looked like a teenager well into my 20s) in a wheelchair, so I got lots of double-takes and stares, as well as the occasional comment about how I didn’t look like I should be in a wheelchair.  Ummm . . . thanks?  My favorite wheelchair-pusher was my girl Rachel because she and her long blond locks were so eye-catching that people tended to ignore me.

Anyway . . . back to my conversation with Matt.  After explaining all my reasons for not wanting to use my wheelchair, Matt said something absolutely searing: “Maybe you should just accept what your life is.”  Not searing in a bad way.  More like searing in the way that this statement will forever come up at the most (in)opportune times, precisely when I’m struggling to accept what my life is.

Writing that post on bargaining was cathartic in a way that even I did not expect.  It was part of the process of accepting what my life is.  There’s been no denial or anger or depression.  And I have stopped bargaining altogether.  Perhaps most surprisingly, I have only wept once or twice over it.  I leave open the possibility that the stages will reoccur (after all, there’s still some pain there), but I also wonder if maybe that’s it.  Maybe I’ve made my peace with this miraculous one-child life I’ve been given.  I hoped it would be something else, but it isn’t, and I’m accepting that.

I am not quite sure I recognized what an accepting place I was in until this last week when no fewer than three good friends announced their pregnancies.  Not that I wouldn’t have been happy for them before, because I don’t believe I have treated happiness (or childbearing) as a zero-sum game in which someone else’s good fortune decreases my own.  But still, I was quite overjoyed.  I could picture seeing their babies and holding them and not inwardly sorrowing that they weren’t my babies.  I felt grateful for what their lives are — because they will also make my life richer.  There was a bit less joy with every pregnancy announcement over that year of bargaining.

The other unforeseen benefit is the heightened enjoyment I feel over Addison.  I have not automatically become that mom who enjoys every minute (in fact, I’m pretty sure when I handed her off to Neal on Saturday night I said, “Hurry! I cannot be whined at for one more second”), but every developmental stage, every new skill or word feels that much more poignant because they likely won’t come this way again.  I’m glad this acceptance came now so that I don’t squander the next year worrying about what I don’t have.  I can’t help but feel this acceptance is a miracle in its own way.  I so desperately wanted the miracle to be one more baby, but peace, happiness, and minimal self-pity is pretty darn miraculous too.

Maybe you should just accept what your life is, words to live by.