The Hall of a Thousand Griefs

My friend Rebekah texted the other day, asking how I was doing. I texted back with this photo, saying life just feels like a hall of a thousand mirrors, one reflecting the other, ad infinitum, only in my instance, it's just grief reflecting grief, ad infinitum. I go to rehab and it just reflects back physical limitations. I look in the actual mirror and it reflects a shaved head and a line of 31 staples. (I get this round out next Tuesday and with no staples in my head, I wonder if I'll turn into Milton from the movie Office Space, asking if someone took my stapler. And yes, I'll be asking the nurse again if I get to keep any staples as souvenirs.) I get in the passenger seat of a car and it reflects back the fact that I can't drive. Reflections of grief everywhere. 

It's proving very difficult to not drown in grief and discouragement, to lift my gaze above all that used to be and now isn't. (My apologies to all you optimists out there, but my writing in the coming months will probably be all sorts of heavy and hard, possibly depressing, because that's my freaking life right now and I don't know how to get around that. I won't be offended if you opt out). Since getting home from the hospital on Monday, I keep experiencing what I call mini episodes, not full-on seizures, but my left arm will start tingling and go numb, then I'll lose motor control to the point I can't move individual fingers. My arm just goes limp. It usually lasts less than an hour and then I can move things again. It sucks, to put it mildly. All of everything sucks right now. I put a call into my neuro oncologist to discuss the symptoms and he ordered a blood draw to assess my anti-seizure medication dosage. I have a follow-up appointment Monday morning. 

While not foolproof, what does seem to help mentally when the walls start closing in is listening to music. Like King Saul of old, the madness within is soothed only by music. I'm listening to a lot of Phil Wickham lately. I need the reminders of truth that these songs carry. Otherwise, I get swept away in the vortex of my own despair. 

Most moments, it's really hard to believe for the day when the hall of a thousand griefs will get shattered and I'll no longer be confronted by reflections that bear so much pain. 

So, in the meantime, I will need you all to be mirrors that reflect the truth of God's character and the hope of a better day.

PS: This post is so short because I am hell-bent on typing with two hands, which I did for the most part, but it took me nearly an hour.