Step 29: Broken hallelujahs.

We're not there yet. May not ever be. So on this anniversary of Jim re-crossing the threshold of the home he once built, we weep our hallelujahs.

On May 23, 2024, my husband, Jim Gallagher, entered the E.R. he worked in for 15 years, this time as a patient.  Within days he was fighting for his life as an infection that began in his foot raged throughout his body, and on June 4th, his leg was amputated below the knee in order to save his life.  This is an ongoing log of our journey.

A few important mile-markers have come and gone, and I cannot miss this one: the one year anniversary of Jim coming home!

It was a miracle and a triumph when on July 23, 2024, Jim rolled through the door of The House That Jim Built.  He reminded me on this anniversary that a year ago he had only one leg. Which was a given, of course, after an amputation, but now we take quite for granted that life comes with two. One of these has an ankle that is just an inch in diameter and is made from something as strong as Jim.  Each morning he pulls his prosthesis on in a few seconds (used to take two of us a several sweaty minutes to tease it into place), dresses himself, and wears it quite comfortably until bedtime.

Is he walking yet?  Yes.  And also no.  We'll get to that.

Looking back.

A peek back at my journal reminds me that when Jim first came home, he needed assistance with each and every transfer.

"Some transfers went smoothly," my journal said on July 24, 2024, the day after Jim came home. "Others were awkward and scared me. The commode situation resolved, but it’s not a good one, and the toilet lift is also inadequate and feeble, wobbly." It then goes on to describe 3 a.m. wake-up calls, bed sore turns, my aching back, a four-hour run to round up 24 different meds from two different pharmacies, and another hour or two figuring out how to give each one. "Today I need to make a chart for blood sugar and insulin!"

The task list that day also included finishing Medicare and Social Security applications, spraying the poison oak and blackberries, cleaning out the basement, moving shelves, finishing the paint in the laundry room, and installing hooks! Remember, we were readying our house for sale, as well as trying to figure out this new life.

And now.

Oh, my! The contrast to that day is dramatic!

Yes, Jim is walking, which involves a walker and a lot of vigilance as well as discomfort. He also practices walking with trekking poles every day, carefully focusing on locking his right knee with each step.  It's easier now, his pain is much less, and short trips within the house are done independently.  He's clearly strong, a win that we can put in the Top Gun column;  Jim watches Top Gun Maverick nearly every day as he pedals the stationary bike.  However, walking is still painful and risky, so longer trips away from home require his wheelchair. Even that has it's limits as his shoulders are painful and lack range of motion, and the upright back of the chair causes discomfort.

But long gone are the clunky M*A*S*H bed.  I can’t call his right leg Squishy any more, as his muscle is quietly, painfully, slowly rebuilding.  My assistance is rarely needed for his care, really, though all house work, cooking, business, home repair, shopping and transportation are still in my column.

Now I look back and realize that the emotional exhaustion of those first weeks, when there were endless needs and burdens and a fair amount of pain and fear, has mainly settled into quite manageable, familiar rhythms.  Jim has gone from 24 prescriptions to 6. We each have some margin for choices and personal agency, less panic and blur, and the freedom to have some time to ourselves.  We’re coming up for air!

I take a deep inhale to celebrate. We've come a long way.

A pilgrimage, chosen or not, is a journey. 

A year ago in my Step Nine post I quoted this from Psalm 84:

Blessed are those whose strength is in You,

whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.

As they pass through the Valley of Baca [tears],

they make it a place of springs;

even the autumn rain covers it with pools.

They go from strength to strength

until each appears before God in Zion.

Psalm 84: 5-7

Weirdly, reading this today was exactly what I needed.  Not because we are now so strong and doing great.  But because despite the progress, we aren’t. 

A pilgrimage, chosen or not, is a journey.  It's not a hike; not a one-time marathon even.  It's an ongoing (maybe never-ending) journey that takes you through mountains and valleys.

The truth is, while we have so much to be grateful for, there have also been some really low valleys for each of us in the last few months. 

It’s not a coincidence that you haven’t heard from me!  I’ve tried, believe me, to write many times.  I start out boldly, and then somewhere in the middle I’ll realize I’ve lost the plotline.  Good writing really ought to have a point, don't you think? And I can't always find it. Progress is laced with disappointment, and a lot of underlying sadness and falling short.  Our hallelujahs are broken ones.

I guess I thought we could bypass the grief part. But that’s not how loss works. 

Courage and hope, praise, even denial are all stepping stones that serve their purpose for a time.  But eventually you have to feel.  You have to come to terms with the hard things and what you’ve lost.  We've changed.  I’ve lost some really meaningful things in my life.  I’m not that good at this caregiving gig.  Jim, also, is not where he wanted to be, and he doesn't like not being able to do the things that he loves. There are unmet goals, unanswered questions.

This path holds hard things that require us to change our vision of what the rest of our lives look like, and that impacts us both.

"Two are better than one," Ecclesiastes says, "...for if one falls down, his companion can lift him up." True! Quite literally for us, as I occasionally wrestle Jim up from a fall. But hurting people don't always make the best partners. At best, we are less emotionally available when we are hurting. At worst, we become the bellows that fan the other's own personal flame.  That can be some ugly soup.

It's been a Valley of Baca!

But this, too, is true:  “Blessed (BLESSED!) are those whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.” 

Blessed are those who know it’s a journey, not a destination.  Who stop to rest, and sing the laments, and grieve, and dig in the desert to find the springs.  They drink deeply, they speak what is true. They receive grace for the next step. They get up.  They move forward.  They find small, new muscles beginning to grow.

In other words, they go from strength to strength.

We're growing muscle.  We are developing new skills of resilience, adjusting our expectations, taking time for pleasure, lowering the bar, and digging new “springs”. But there is still a long journey ahead. The destination is unclear. Our house is still not sold.  I’m still not good at being retired.  Jim is not physically where he wants to be. We both have new annoying health issues that come with age and limit our reach.

We aren't there yet.  May not ever be.  So instead of setting our hearts on a goal, we set our hearts on pilgrimage. 

Thankfully, one can always find some refreshing springs along the journey.  Recent gatherings with family from out of state were particularly joyous, comforting and life-giving.  So was a quick trip to Mt. Rainier, a favorite old haunt.  We’re currently savoring one more summer in The House That Jim Built. A mama turkey and her baby have taken up residence here on the property, as well as a doe and a spotted fawn.  Better yet, my own baby and her baby wander by as well! 

Last week the three of us--mom, daughter, grandson--slept outside on the deck, like we did when Molly was little, watching the light fade and the stars emerge, listening to the familiar night sounds, feeling balmy air turn chill as we snuggled deeper into our sleeping bags.  It was positively yummy passing this delight onto a new generation.

The pilgrimage.  It sometimes feels endless, but it has a point, a destination, and an end. Not one designed by us, but by a good, loving God. And the journey is laced with loveliness, if we open our eyes to it.  So we slow the pace, set our hearts on pilgrimage, and make it a place of springs. 

We go from strength to strength.

One step at a time.

. . . . . . . . . .

With "Jim" changes happening more slowly, many of my posts are likely to revert to the variety show of whatever subject happens to catch my fancy! Future Jim updates will begin with "Step" something-or-other, so watch for those, and feel free to enjoy or ignore my mental chatter if you'd like! Thanks again, all of you, for your amazing support on this journey.

--Kathy