Hope Through Adversity

     It's been a rough month for me. The pain in my shoulder that has plagued me for months reached a new high when I slid down my front steps earlier this month on the way out to work. I landed on my back and wrenched my shoulder and within minutes could not move my left arm more than an inch or two. A trip to the doctor and x-rays showed no broken bones. Good news there. Next off to see an orthopedic doctor. A look at my x-rays and a diagnosis of degenerative arthritis and a "frozen" shoulder, caused by a lack of cartilage between the joints. Great. I get a cortisone shot and am told to wait a few days and to start physical therapy the following week, 2-3x a week. I leave with a script and a note taking me out of work for another two weeks. Okay, so we have answers. I'm out of work, I have no income and now I'm looking at $60.00 for therapy each week for the next couple of months. I say a prayer and my hubby tells me not to worry, just get better. Easy enough.

     Off I go to therapy on Tuesday. It goes well. I leave hurting but I'm on my way to recovery. It'll take two months to get my full range of motion back. Okay. Let's do this. I'm willing to put in the effort. I have a job to get back to and it's spring; my garden waits...I'm feeling optimistic on the way home. I can do this...

     I notice roadwork ahead and a "Men Working Ahead" sign as I see the two cars ahead of me stop suddenly. I pull to the right shoulder as an evasive move to avoid a collision.  I look in my rearview just as the grill of a truck fills my mirror ...BANG! I'm thrown forward against the seatbelt and everything on the front seat falls to the floor. The gentleman and I get out. No one appears hurt. He missed seeing the sign.  I have the presence of mind to dial "911" and take photos of the damage to my car as we wait for the police.  The police come and I turn down the ambulance. I tell the officer that, ironically enough, I just left physical therapy. I don't know if I'm hurt. He tells us the accident report will be ready for pick up in 7-10 days. This has been a bad spot for accidents. The rear of my vehicle is stoved in and the right light assembly has been sheered off. My rear door does not open but both vehicles are "drivable" so I limp it home. 

     On the way, the shock begins to wear off. I get home; call my daughter then the insurance company. I begin to shake and realize that it's hard to move my neck and my shoulder hurts...bad. My daughter calls me back and she meets me at the hospital, along with my husband. X-rays are taken. No broken bones. Strained neck. I'm given more meds and sent home. My therapy will be stalled while I get clearance from my doctor.

     The car is more badly damaged than we thought. Looks like the frame has been compromised and neither the hatch or rear door will open. My husband tells me and the tears come. I worry that it might be totaled and I'm not ready to part with my car, for reasons beyond financial. I bought this car in 2006 after my son was killed and I was left without him or a car. The insurance paid for my new vehicle. I always found it poignant that my first new vehicle came at the cost of his life. If I lose this car, I feel like I'm losing him. As the years pass my grip on the things that remind me of him seems to be loosening. Again I pray and tell myself that it's only a car. I can do this.

     It snowed last night. Again. I look out at my yard blanketed in snow. The wind is howling and my dear husband goes out to clear the walkway and the car. I drop him off at work and go to therapy. This is my first time driving since the accident and I find myself checking my mirrors often. Therapy is grueling and I am brought to tears once or twice, while the therapist stretches my shoulder.. I drive home and I feel discouraged. I try to pray but the words don't seem to come. So many things pressing in on me and I hurt.

      As I pull into the driveway I see that the bright sunshine has cleared my driveway of snow. The walk is clear, too. I hear the birds that are visiting my feeders. They're hungry. I wonder how the garden has fared and see the crocus, cheery yellow, shining through the snow. I am awed by the tenacity of these flowers. I wouldn't have been surprised to see them shriveled, done for the season. After all it's snowed, it's cold, and the wind is fierce. Instead, however, here they are, gorgeous and dazzling in their beauty. I realize that there is a lesson here for me. I'm still here. I am beautiful, too.  I've weathered storms of my own and the winds of change have blown me down at times. But like these crocus, I'm going to keep going because the end result will be well worth the effort. It makes me a better person. I see the answer to my prayers now. There is hope through adversity. I've made it through this far and it will be these beautiful flowers that inspire me to keep on. Lesson learned. Thank you Father.

In Hindsight I Can See...

In Hindsight I Can See...

I have always enjoyed gardening. Originally I thought that I had inherited this love from my mother who always had houseplants of one type or another in the house for as long as I can remember. She was the one that I remember caring for the huge Crown of Thorns that we had in our huge south-facing front bay window. It would have flowers on it all winter, but it was when it came time to put it outside on the front step that it came into its full glory. Covered with small green leaves and small red flowers, it was a sight to behold and a danger to anyone unaware of the huge thorns that lay beneath the leaves! I loved that plant. We also had ferns, spider plants and various other houseplants. These my mom nourished and she had success with them.

When I decided to try my hand at plants, it was she that gave me the cuttings to root and it was her that helped me plant them. I remember naming them and talking to them as to a friend. Every one I had seemed to thrive and my mom always teased me about how roughly I handled them, yet they didn't seem to mind. It was later that I became familiar with the term "green thumb" and I never questioned my having one. Soon my room was overrun with gorgeous plants. I remember putting in ceiling hooks and shelves beneath the windows to hold them all. My favorite at that time was a Swedish Ivy that I named "Woody" after my favorite Bay City Roller. They are still a favorite of mine to this very day, although I have no houseplants now, thanks partly to my daughters' cat, Cosmo, who likes to eat anything green.

I said originally in my opening paragraph, though, because it wasn't until last year, after the death of my father, that I realized that my love of gardening was similiar to his. Sad to say, I had ongoing issues with my father and never got to thank him for this gift. But the evening after he died, I went to his apartment that he shared with his wife, and it was when I saw a gardening catalog lying on a table where he used to sit that I got my first inkling. I noticed markings on the catalogs cover and inside; there were circles around the flower bulbs he had planned to plant that fall. Each choice was marked with a notation as to where that bulb(s) would go and I smiled in spite of myself, because I saw myself doing the same things in mine at home. When I went outside later, I was surprised to see a small area that he had filled with flowers and various garden accents. There were small trellises and a raised bed edged in rocks, stepping stones and little ceramic creatures. There were hummingbird feeders and bird feeders and in that very limited space, again I saw myself. His garden was designed the way mine was. Suddenly, I became aware of the summers my father had spent in our yard, tending to a large vegetable garden in the back and a beautiful lawn and flowers (usually zinnias) in the front. He tended my mothers roses and lilacs. Every spring, my mom would get mad at him for pruning bushes back too far. "They'll never come back!" I remember her chiding him, and yet, they always bloomed beautifully the following year!  I remember him always being tanned to a deep Indian brown  and rarely if ever, wearing a shirt as he would labor outside. We always had birdfeeders, too. There was always some bird or new flower to marvel over. Today, I know where I get my love from. My eyes were blinded all those years. You see, my dad was an alcoholic during my childhood and my memories from then were not the kind I wanted to remember. But now, I can look back and find something good.  I didn't get to tell him, it's true, but perhaps in the future I will be able to. I look forward to seeing him again in the Paradise ahead, and I am hoping that he and I will be able to nurture our love of gardening as well as a better understanding of one another.