A few weeks ago, Willy put Van down for a nap and took Hooper with him to go to the grocery store. As he walked out the door, I recall how he begged and pleated with me not to pick Van up if he wakes up early from his nap. Internally, I rolled my eyes, and reminded him that I have to use a straw to drink out of a cup because physically tilting the cup up is too painful.

And that’s how life had been in those first few weeks.

I spent the better part of my days in bed, turning from left to right every couple of hours when the pressure on my bony hip grew to be too relentless. I secretly celebrated two days after I got released from the hospital when I was able to turn and reconfigure the pillows entirely on my own. Between the pain and the twisting/bending/lifting restrictions, it wasn’t easy. But these days, I’m trying to celebrate the small things.

If I didn’t celebrate the small things, I’d fall into a depression. I can guarantee this to be true because there have been entire days where I couldn’t stop crying, where I practically drowned in the tears of a self-pity party. Hooper caught me in one of these moments and was so genuinely concerned, so fearful, and I couldn’t suck it up; the depression weakened me to the point where I couldn’t even fake strength in the face of my own children. That’s not a testament to my weakness, but rather to the depression’s strength.

I have to remind myself often that I had a major surgery and I have to constantly cut my body some slack for taking the time it needs to repair itself. Recovery has been a trying experience.

Willy and I blew up at each other the other day. We both were more or less ignorant about what to emotionally expect in the face of recovery. What ensued was a long drive and a discussion on perspective. I have to remind myself on a regular basis that I elected to have the surgery I did. Sure, surgeon after surgeon told me it was necessary but ultimately it was me who said when. At the moment, we’re struggling with the space between; trying desperately to deal with pain and limitations and a ridiculously chaotic household in light of the fact that what is our reality today will not be our reality a few months from now. Countless friends and family members have stepped in to help and what I’m realizing is that more than food on the table or entertainment for our boys, we need perspective and patience; A reminder that what we’re going through is indeed temporary. The truth is that all of us – you and me – are in a state of transition.

Everything is temporary.  

I reminded myself of this notion when I gave birth to Van and felt like a hungover college student (due to the sleepless nights, of course) for the first three months of his life. And now, more than ever, words have never rung truer. The space between is a road we all must travel, but the further we travel, the more the gap closes. And the more the gap closes, the more you realize it was all temporary anyway.