It has been a long time since I have wanted to write. There have been moments in the past weeks that I have felt obligated to write, but knew that the true sincerity that I would want to convey would be absent. This past week, I have had God invite me to share my heart again. For the sake of length of this post, I just want to say Thank You.
As we have celebrated Thanksgiving, and as we move through Advent, my heart is full of thanks to each of you. Thank you for your prayers, thanks for your comfort. Thank you for your support, whether it be spiritually, physically or finacially. Thank you for your encouragement, for your love. "Thanks" is a word we throw around so often that in these moments that I want it to mean something so deeply, I feel that it isn't quite enough. What word is there though? I can't seem to find one that works for me. Nonetheless, thank you....thank you.....thank you. Each of you, whether we see you often, we know your name, or we have never met, know that each of you have left an imprint on my heart that is shaping me more fully into the woman I am called to be. For this, there aren't words.
Weeks ago, during a Rosary before the election, God gave me a beautiful image. I was in the darkest moments since Vivi had died. Sitting before him in adoration, I looked at my right hand. The day after Vivi had died, I was explaining to Rod what I was going to do to the main wall in our living room. As I was waiving my arms around the wall, my right palm snagged a nail. It hooked into my skin and dragged down. Needless to say, this was extremely painful, and as blood was oozing out of it, we both were questioning if I would need stitches. As the oozing blood-flow calmed slightly, we could see that it wasn't too deep, but it would leave a scar. I tried to put a few band-aids on it, but they wouldn't stay for 2 reasons. 1.) because it was an awkward spot and 2.) because I am right handed so I would move my hand in ways that made the already awkward spot more awkward.
The first few days, I was INCREDIBLY cautious with what I did with my hand. I couldn't wash it without a sting, move it without bleeding...how difficult it was to be right handed and not able to use my right hand. But after a few days, I kinda forgot it was there. I got out of the shower and was putting on lotion and rubbed it all over the injury. OUCH!!! I will admit, not nice words came out of my mouth as I quickly remembered the reason why I was avoiding right hand usage. For a few more days I was incredible cautious. But after about a week, although there was a scab over the cut, the skin was getting tougher and tougher--I could wash my hands with little or no discomfort, and although lotioning was a bit tricky, the sting didn't last as long. Sitting in adoration, a month or so after the incident, I looked at my hand--it hadn't been at the forefront of my mind for weeks that my right hand was temporarily maimed. I could still see the scar that would be left- a pink puffiness haloed the area. But, what I had never noticed before, the cut began at the end of a line already in the palm of my hand. Fully healed, this scar would seem like it was always meant to be there-just an extension of a crease already in the palm of my hand. Looking up at Christ in the Monstrance, I knew He was telling my this is just like my heart without Vivi here on Earth.
When Vivi died, my heart was cut open. There were a few moments when salt was thrown into my wound--not by malice on any person's heart, just because of the nature of my situation in relationship with theirs. But like my hand, the scar is healing....it's just a part of me. Day by day life becomes more liveable, more manageable. I am having more good days with 'bad moments' than bad days with 'good moments'-- the mark Vivi has left on my heart will always be there. But everyday, the scar is healing, becoming more and more a seemingly natural part of me.