Bringing Comfort

Excerpt from Beginnings

Friday, 26 July marked my best run of the summer...and the beginning of my worst nightmare. That night, we had to put my soulmate, our beloved standard poodle, Prancer Sequoia Mozart, to sleep.

My heart broke – and in my sleep, my body broke, too.

My spectacular summer was no more.

I woke up in the morning and couldn't swallow. My daughter tried to help me with breakfast. I remember that much, but then...? My memory fades until mid-October, when I regained full conscious awareness to find a trach in my throat, a feeding tube in my stomach, a myriad of IV’s snaking about my arms, and my tall, strong runner’s body paralyzed from the neck down. My official diagnosis: tetraplegic, C4- C7, incomplete.

Of the prior weeks and months, I remember very little. I am told that my life on this planet appeared to be nearing its end. I am absolutely convinced that during this time, the constant visits and fervent prayers of my distraught and anxious family, friends, university and parish community managed to keep me here on this earth.

Through the haziness, I do remember saying a prayer.

“God, I'm not ready to go home yet. I do not want to leave my husband, my daughter, my grandbaby, my youth ministry kids at church, or my Seton Hall students. But if that is what You want, You can take me.”

And the voice answered: I am not finished with you yet. I have work for you to do.

And here is some of that work. Within the covers of this book may you find a story or a prayer or two that resonates within you, that perhaps brings you some comfort. May the God who helped me write this book bring you hope and comfort, even in the midst of your feelings of anger, abandonment, and aloneness. Know that I was once there, too, battling with agony and anguish that threatened to drown me at every turn. And, dear reader, please know that those feelings do not have to overcome you, those feelings do not have to win! Today my vision is different, my being transformed through the many lessons learned through those harrowing times. May your present difficulties, painful as they may be, bring transformation to you as well. It may take time, but my hope is that your heart will heal and reveal new ways of being in the world.

But, most of all, may you discover the love of the one who created you and brought you into this world. May you discover on your journey what I discovered on mine:

You are loved.

You are never alone.

God is with you.

And so am I.

May you find hope.