Notes to My Siblings

“Riah, Riah, MOriah DO IT.” (With foot stamp for emphasis) My independence started in the toddler years, and what can I say, I’m consistent. Chronic illness has taught me that I can’t always do it, but even now, four years in, it’s rare that I actually straight out ask for help. ‘Because I can do it,’ I think. ‘Eventually.’ And if I can even kind of do it, I shouldn’t inconvenience anyone to ask for anything, not even family, unless I’m desperate. What someone else might hear as “hey, could you grab me a few things at the store?” I hear myself saying, “I’m probably just being too soft on myself and now this person I’m asking for help from is going to think I’m a wimp and a bad wife and what do I need to look like when they bring the groceries so they feel like their effort was valid because I don’t know how to explain why I can’t drive myself and walk through a store when I look fine and am sitting up outside in the yard.” I have a pride issue, true. But I’ve also been the victim of to

It’s been four years + a month since my body crashed and changed my life forever. I’m not sure why I keep this letter, but every time I hold it I can still feel the pain I felt when after three months of testing and interviews I was one of two final candidates and I decided to withdraw because my health issues were so serious that I knew I would most likely be a danger to the people I would serve rather than a help. I grieve what I actually lost these past four years, but the grief of the could-have-beens is what hits me hardest and when I least expect it. Lately I’ve grown to notice that if I’m criticizing someone or something, odds are, at the root of it, I’m grieving something I’ve lost. That might sound crazy, but for me grief is often disguised as jealousy and revealed as criticism. I started to write about grief at least five times and then deleted and started over. Grief and grieving is a hard concept for me. I am uncomfortable with anything that I can’t “fix” quickly, and grief

“Look, I spent the weekend crafting fun Christmas decorations! How was your weekend?” *Well, I spent the weekend listening to a friend’s cries of grief as she walks through the deep losses of chronic pain. Each of my family members are facing huge trials and I currently can’t live in my house because it makes me severely ill and we don’t know what we are going to do. I spent the weekend numb and tired and I’m getting sick which for my body means I’ll probably be knocked out for a while.* “It was busy but fine.” It’s been months since I had that interaction, but it stuck with me because our standard protocol for greeting and conversation doesn’t do life justice. We don’t actually get to SEE each other when we summarize things, and so often BOTH our joys and sorrows remain invisible. If something is great we are hesitant to be too enthusiastic for fear of offending people. If something is hard we are hesitant to be too honest for fear of being Johnny Raincloud. It’s easy for me to get bu