How do I begin?
At this time of the year, so many people think back on the past 12 months and deeply ponder the life changing things that have happened, the hurdles they’ve crossed, barriers they’ve overcome, changes they’ve made. For the past several days, I’ve noticed a multitude of online status’s announcing these ground breaking epiphanies, most people kindly letting the cyber world know that “it has been an amazing year.”
All I could think 24 hours ago was that I couldn’t care less that 2011 is about to roll around. This year has been rough – but I knew I couldn’t neatly wrap it in a 12 month package, declaring it over and finished, done with – like a present given, opened, and neatly put away in its place the day after tomorrow – the annual present of a brand new year. This is exactly my same train of thought when it comes to the idea of putting together some collection of writings for people who, like me, are dealing with CRPS: I couldn’t do it. The only reason being – I didn’t know how the book would end, for it is still continuing. It’s still mid-chapter, as was my year.
It’s amazing how fast things can change. It’s amazing how fast the idea of hope can put your heart in motion to finally move forward.
In two days time, I’ll watch this year turn into the next. I may not post a cliche status update announcing the obvious passing of time, and what that means to my life. But I think this year, I may be thinking it. I can probably say with a good amount of sincerity that this is the hardest year that I personally have experienced, only one other coming in as a close second in my mind. But perhaps this is a chance to end a chapter, close a book.
I read good news today, and at the same time – let out an enormous breath that I didn’t even realize I’d been holding. It came at a time when no one else was home, which was probably a good thing. I stood up – I sat down. I looked out the window at the snow, I realized I was sweating. I walked into the front yard, paced the icy driveway, then realized it was 25 degrees and I was in a rather nonexistent hoodie. I walked back inside, grabbed my coat and camera.
I spent a good portion of the next hour walking through the snow, clicking pictures until my fingers turned bright red with the cold. I barely noticed. I felt like I’d arrived at a place in my head that I thought I had buried with portions of my heart little by little throughout the past 12 months, and it was beautiful. Unexpected. A resurrection of sorts, Lazarus feelings. My camera clicked with another sharp, satisfying sound, and I saw more than felt the bright sun on my face. I wanted to capture my feeling with each click, I needed something beautiful that was tangible, too. I watched the sun set over the forest beyond our back yard pastures – my thoughts an odd mixture of colors and a continuous stream of silent chatter to the One I knew had a hand in the sudden turn of events..and perhaps all the others had been leading, somehow, to this point.
A few hours later, I sat in the dark backseat of our family car, traveling slowly over the icy roads on our way to music practice. My dad honked the horn several sharp little barks, and I didn’t even have to look to know that there were no other cars on the road. The quick honks are the happy honks, and he does it when he’s in a good mood. I smiled to myself, realizing I wasn’t alone.
Tonight is one of those nights when I’ll either sleep amazingly well, or not at all.
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