Last night I took a long walk around and around the baseball park during practice. I’m in training for a youth pioneer trek. Just call me “Ma Ross” and I’ll say, “Yes, dear? Do you need a band aid for that blister?”
On my long walk through the dust, I thought about my sister who is very ill. I wondered what I could say to help. My mind traveled back to those 3 summers in a row that I was in bed recovering from surgeries. I remembered the feelings of frustration, helplessness, and the temporary depression. I couldn’t mother; I couldn’t teach seminary anymore; I was miserable. I worried that I would never be happy again. I was lonely, but when someone would visit, we rarely talked on the deep level that I craved.
I remember each visitor and each bouquet of flowers and I was deeply touched these acts of kindness. I only felt angry about the “gratitude journal” I was given. I wasn’t ready to be grateful. I remember feeling heartbroken that I couldn’t take care of my kids. I remember the generosity of family and friends.
I learned to never tell someone, “I understand what you’re going through.” I learned to be forgiving when people said this because they meant well.
The biggest lesson I learned during these summers was that I could weather the bad stuff. Although the comfort from friends and family was cherished, the deep comfort came from within, through my choices to listen to the Spirit. I had to change the way I viewed my situation. No one else could do this for me. I had to be the one to make the choice to be thankful. No one could make me feel this. I had to accept physical limitations for a while. I admit that I did not do this very well.
During this time, I clung to Church magazines and had profound experiences reading the scriptures. The gospel was truly the only thing that could penetrate my troubled heart and mind. It was a revelatory time. I have journals to prove it. I wrote to pass the time. I wrote to record my testimony over and over. I wrote so I could remember.
For the next few weeks I’ll try to write something each day so my sister has something new to read or look at.
I love you, Susan.