What cruel twist of fate would offer up sight following a catastrophic wounding of my eye, and then take it away? Seven weeks after saving my eye and regaining vision, a shadow began at the upper left corner and ate away at the light, inexorably slipping down and across vision like a total eclipse of the sun.
This can’t be happening, I thought. I’m merely tired, and need to rest. Seven weeks ago I was sightless, but now – or before the eclipse began – I was actually seeing across our beloved river to the mountains beyond, if a bit blurrily. I was grateful. In awe of a body’s ability to heal. Humbled by the enormous outpouring of love and support. Astounded at the technology and skill that saved an eye and gave back the most valued of my five senses. Sight.
But it did happen. Scans of the back of my eye confirmed it. And surgery was scheduled immediately. Again.
I think I might have been about 60% back to stamina when my body took another five hour anesthetic hit, five hour recovery, and ultimate admittance to hospital. I did not come back well, physically. Pain was a roaring, pulsing, churning volcanic cauldron. It was morphine that ultimately brought me back into myself.
With shaky resolve and a pain management plan, we came home and I began the process of being still. We’d done this before. We could do it again. But my mind deserted me with an absence of strategies. And, with the temerity of a persistent child, I was furious to find myself here. Wildly, hysterically, foot-stampingly, ferociously furious. That first day when my eye was pummeled and I instantly lost my sight, I had turned away from my grandboys and roared to the waning sun, “NOOOOOO!” Now, having been teased by sight, I railed against the utter desolation of that loss again. Then pain crashed in, and brought me to my knees.
In front of our nightly fire one evening my eyes produced a worthy monsoon. I could not seem to stop those tears I was not supposed to cry. John got up, knelt beside me and asked, “What wall did you just hit?”
“What cruelty gives hope and jerks it away?”
He gathered me in his arms, told me how sorry he was that I was dealing with any of this, and we wept together. As my caregiver, this is his story too. The fire crackled, we rested in each other, and the tears subsided, but not my despair.
Bombarded by this dealt hand, the pain, the truth that it wasn’t something I’d done, or not done; or the surgeon had or hadn’t done, I yielded. Let go. Gave up. Released my will to a shuttered darkness. I drifted in the inky blackness of hopelessness. I didn’t just yield to the eye challenge, I let it go global. My work, my voice, my belief in light, I let it all drift. John read me messages of support, which had previously given me hope. I heard each one, but instead of igniting motivation in me, or strengthening my grit, I seemed to curl inward, falling. Then, without noticing how or precisely when, I was no longer falling, but found myself floating on the sea of goodwill and the energy provided by others, infinitely connected to theirstrength, if not my own. My warrior woman took five.
In the night, when my husband needed to sleep, and that relief eluded me, I roamed the recesses of my mind, my beliefs about it and life. I wondered, on the continuum of control vs. relinquishing control, how one finds that gossamer thread of balance. Had I not, decades ago, taken control, for the future of my children, for my ultimate psychological health; for choosing truth, for righting wrongs, and then mustering the wherewithal to say it out loud (The Fifth Sister), to save our lives – my children and mine – well, I can’t even imagine. I remain a full time outsider to my family of origin to this day. We are where we are because I purposed change. Exercised will. Changed my brain. And, inexpertly guided our little family out of that history.
When, then, does one relinquish? And how does one appropriately pick up the reins of intention? When to rest in the cocoon of caring, the hammock created by others who lovingly, sturdily, compassionately surround you, and when to rise from that rest to stand on unsteady limbs, take a few tentative steps, breathe deeply, and find – even if just a glimpse – your inner lion.
“Nobody needs to tell you how strong you are. But I’m telling you that our combined strength and dedication to your healing will simply be an undeniable force of nature… Keep roaring, my sister lion.”
In that murky tidal-like dark place of despair, surrounded by healing thoughts, prayers, and the flat out bombardment to heaven of others, flickered moments of illumination. There, rest found a sense of peace in stillness, and in that quietude a soul sought and found her heart.
This morning, when my right eye still worked, before it gave way to fatigue, I viewed my misaligned pupils with wry amusement. They will come into alignment when they are ready. I am in a gathering place. Gathering strength. Gathering remnants of scattered will. Gathering tiny points of light to illuminate hope. It feels precarious, but I am not risk aversive. I suspect the control/relinquish-control continuum is fluid. Dynamic. Balancing on that tightrope will always require steady thoughtful consideration, a level of expertise about oneself, and the freedom to relinquish as a measure of strength or perhaps wisdom, not surrender.
Laura: While I cannot fathom the pain of this experience for you and for all who love you, I pray for God’s sustaining presence in your life. There are times when all I can say to God in prayer is: “I don’t know what to say to You…” May the Everlasting One demonstrate to you that you are in His/Her healing embrace!
Hope and Will are but manifestations of the future and present. Based on the past successes in your life, I feel that your Hope and Will are strong enough to face yet another challenge. Thank you for sharing your challenges and successes. I echo the previous postings re: your inspirational stories. They have helped me face some difficult issues recently. Best wishes to you and John in 2019.
Rarely do I feel the inadequacy of words to express what I feel but cannot say. Please know that Georgia and I hold you in our hearts and speak your name in our prayers at “every remembrance of you,” to steal a line from St. Paul. We send blessings and cheer to you in this first week of the New Year.
Again, thank you for sharing.
Laura, I’m not adequate to the task of telling you how much help I’ve drawn from you since we “met” on line. You’ve been a blessed source for help facing my own challenges. Thank you, thank you, thank you. My Congolese friends taught me the sincerity of saying three times, thank you when it’s truly heartfelt. Now even as you face the results of being “blindsided” in a very real way, you continue to be true to who you are and who God has made you. I pray for you Laura. I pray for strength for you and that you may have, each day, what you need. I wish I could do more.
Paul
We are always in process, for better or for worth. I love your last paragraph of self-transcending awareness. Carol and I continue to hold you in prayer.
David
We are here and we are with you, Laura. All love,
Your graphic words guide us to the edge, but only the edge, of what you are going through. I remember rejoicing after your first surgery at your slowly healing. Then when the news came of your eclipse moving over your eye again, I too said NO NO NO! How can this be? What an amazing woman you are! We all have those ah-ha and NO NO NO moments, but I think you are going to be all right, Laura Landgraf. Plan on that!
Dear Laura,
My heart shares your pain and fear. You are blessed to be surrounded by many who love and admire you, especially John.
I pray God’s healing and peace for you
The gossamer thread, invisible yet to the eye seen clearly as life’s sustaining triangle: The Eternal one, a loving partner, your unrelenting will. As I read, those thoughts kept apace with your account of how precious sight is to you.
I lift you up in prayer and affirm that healing will come – when I do not know but I trust the ONE who does and HE is always faithful.
Dear Laura and John,
Laura, I am so sorry you have to endure all of this a second time. I can’t imagine how dark it must feel at times and how alone you must feel. I am praying that God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ will provide a light in the darkness to guide your steps that you might experience his peace that delivers you in the midst of your sorrows. I also pray that you and John might know in the depths of your being that you are loved and that you are being lifted up in prayer by many friends and prayer warriors. And I pray that Jesus would completely restore your sight again. You are at the top of Sue’s and my prayer list. We pray for you daily. Hang in there, Laura and John.
Your friends, Curt & Sue
Amen.
Laura, I was so happy to see your beautiful piece on how you are gathering strength to make your way through this dark tunnel. It means you are recovering! It has been very hard but you are an amazingly gifted person and John is a most loving care giver. Together you can do it!!! Love and prayers, Renate
Dear Laura, my heart aches for you at this moment. Rest in the cocoon of those who love and care for you and I truly believe that you will have the strength to come through this. Dick and I, as always send our love and prayers. Aloha, Monene
Laura, thank you for your wonderful message. I needed to hear it today. I won’t go into my problems but want you to know that you have help me. I guess we all have to “release our control “ of a situation and wait but it is very hard as you know.
Prayers,
Cheri
Laura, I shared your story on Facebook to enlarge the community of prayer for you. I’m so sorry. Yes, sometimes you just have to let the ones who love you take you in. In this time of great uncertainty and pain…there is John. Your rock. I grateful that you found each other.
Mere
Keep roaring, Sister Lion!
Your bravery and sturdy acceptance of this twisted life event is truly admiral and exemplary. The community of love nurtured by you and John is singing psalms every day for your recovery in accord to the Devine plan. Indeed, you both are loved by many.
You are so beautiful in your journey. You have given me courage today to meet my own challenges. Thank you
So so sorry Laura….praying His peace over you…..He’s got this so hang on to Him with all you’ve got….praying for patience for you as well, you have gone thru hard stuff, in His time it will be ok….I so admire your courage❤️❤️
Dearest Laura,
You are one of my heroes. Thank you for your words and wisdom.
I continue to pray and hold you in my thoughts.
Sending you Love and Hugs
Lion Woman: May all the power and energy of love sent your way continue to contain and hold you with all this continuing journey may hold. Bill and I pour out our love to you.
As part of your community of faith I too have come undone, with no answer except to let go. My prayer is that you can remain sensitive to everything God offers and avoid the trite empty answers.
Prayers and positive thoughts for healing, strength and encouragement!
I wish you every strength and courage possible. You are not alone. Mark and I are sending you loving thoughts. Mauree Jane