I have had a few major surgeries in my life where they took significant body parts out of me. I had to learn to pay attention to my body in ways I had never considered before. Mainly, because my body couldn’t do what it used to right away. This involved relearning how to move, when to rest, and how to keep my mind from sabotaging my recovery by pushing too hard.

There are stages of recovery when my body is trying to adjust to its missing parts. The acute stage, immediately following the surgery, is the most important. This is before I can even get out of the bed. Still on significant pain meds. Sleeping a good deal of the time. Trying to learn to turn over without ripping out my stitches. No one, including me, expects me to get up and run laps.

The next and less intense stage, they bring in PT, to get me up and moving. I don’t think I am ready, but they say I am. I walk a few steps to a chair and sit up for a few minutes, before moving back to the bed. Then I crash for hours because that small amount of movement exhausted me. Over the next few days, the pain meds are tapered off, IVs removed, awake time increases, as does the amount of walking and sitting up. Before I know it, it is time to go home.

At home, I am still 100% in someone else’s care. I don’t move on my own yet for fear of falling. I require help for everything. PT comes to my house because I cannot get to them yet. I have graduated from the bed to a chair. I sit in my recliner. I sleep in my recliner. I eat in my recliner. I am learning that I ache when I need sleep. I feel weak when I need food. It is a bit like being a toddler learning…or re-learning…how my body tells me what it needs.

My mind tells me I am too slow. This is taking too long. I have to push through. I have to get going. I have to learn to listen to my body instead of my thoughts. Over time, I improve. I get to so I can walk on my own. I can make it to the toilet by myself. I can take a shower in privacy. I am still a long way from 100% functional, but gradually I am regaining some independence. I eventually get to drive again. I can take myself to PT. I still have to pay attention to the aching of my body. I have to rest immediately when I am signaled to do so or I will regret it.

One day, after maybe a year or so, I realize I am back to normal. Kind of. As normal as this body can be without the integral parts that have been removed. I have adjusted to the changes. I have learned my new limits. I have stopped trying to push myself back to what was before. I have embraced the changes…or at least accepted them.

So, why am I telling you all of this now? Because my grief feels very similar. I am in the acute phase. Still barely able to sit up. It seems I was further along after Mom died, but then I was hit with Dad’s death. I was trying to adjust to this new phase when Michael’s death put me back into the bed yet again. It’s like having three major surgeries one right after the other. I wonder if I will ever recover. My brain wants me to move faster. My body…and my emotions…are saying “no”. I cannot move faster or push through. It would be to my detriment to try.

I am learning to function without the parts of me that have been removed. I know the ache that means slow down, rest. I am trying to make slow progress as my emotional state will allow. However, there are some days I still cannot make a move. Others where I feel I am closer to my new normal. I find myself reaching for the phone before I realize I cannot make that call, which leads to the ache. I find myself singing a favorite Christmas song with joy while my heart is breaking. Such a dichotomy. Tears and smiles woven together through the holiday season. Memories and missing pieces.

I am taking it slow. I am exercising to increase the strength I need in order to recover. I am taking steps on my own now. Getting out of the bed and making forward movement. I am telling my brain that there is no hurry. I don’t have to “get on with it” any faster than my emotions will let me. I can take one step at a time…slow as they need to be.

From my surgical experiences I know there will come a day when I feel “recovered”. That doesn’t mean I will forget all this pain, but it does mean I will have made the adjustments in order to go forward. I know there will always be a before they died and an after they died. Just like there is a before cancer and after cancer divide in my life. But that doesn’t mean it was better before and worse after…just different.

Change is difficult for me. Always has been. I am the sentimental one who always wants to hold onto the sweet times and forget the bad ones. Life challenges me because letting go is part of it. So is change. This season of grief is requiring me to let go, even as I hold on. Learning how to do both appropriately is part of my recovery.

Until I adjust to this new emotional person, living without my people, I will learn to follow my feelings. To let them signal when to rest and when to move. When to sit and when to walk. When to work and when to take some time. At some point, I will look up and find I am once again on my feet. Once again healthy and healed. However long that day takes, I will wait for it with patience and perseverance, knowing that the new season will not replace the old one. And that new does not mean better, just different.