THIS MORNING, AS I WALKED OUTSIDE in the unseasonably gentle weather, my breath was taken away by the sky.  Dark, purplish blue clouds stretched across the dome of heaven in the north, south and west.  In the east however, the low ridges of the clouds glowed a deep orange through the bare branches of the trees. Along the eastern horizon, a fiery band of gold burned with the intensity of the rising sun, as if the lid of clouds were being lifted slightly and the brilliant light peeking through the gap was offering a glimpse of glory.

What a perfect metaphor for today, which is the three-year anniversary of Mary Elizabeth’s stroke.

Time generally has a funny way of being shortened and lengthened at the same time when thinking back to momentous occasions like births, marriages or high school graduations (sigh), but oddly in the case of the stroke, it seems like it happened 10 years ago, not 3 years ago.  I’m not sure if that’s because the intervening three years have been so difficult – and they have been, or if it’s because so much has changed for us – which it has.

While we were in London, waiting first for Mary Elizabeth to wake up, and then for her to be well enough to travel home, I remember thinking that when we got back, everything would be so much easier.  We’d be with family and friends, supported by a loving community and on the road back to a full recovery.

Some of those things happened of course.  We were welcomed back with open arms by friends and family and supported by the wonderful communities of church and school.  I honestly don’t know if we would have made it through without you. And in the first year, we saw miraculous progress – given where we were three years ago today.

But has it been easier?  I’d have to say no, not at all. In fact it’s been a hard struggle, with ups and downs and everything in between. Honestly, I look back on our time in London with fond nostalgia at this point.  It was certainly easier, and I could push all our other troubles to the back burner to focus 100% on Mary Elizabeth while she was under the capable care of the doctors and nurses at Royal London Hospital. I developed a close circle of supportive friends in London, and fell in with the bell-ringing community. Those are genuinely pleasant memories, filled with fellowship and the hopeful potential for a full recovery.

It’s no secret that we’ve been disappointed with the extent to which Mary Elizabeth has recovered. It’s one of those hard truths, because with it comes the acknowledgement that when I look at Mary Elizabeth, or she looks in the mirror, we sometimes see what could have been, instead of what is. With that of course comes the bitter aftertaste of guilt that we’re not more grateful for what we have.

And I’m quite frankly dissatisfied with myself. I wish I could have been more positive in the last three years, thought less about myself and my feelings – spent less time in the shadows and more time in the light of grace. At times I’ve even resented the cheerfulness people showed towards us, thinking that if they only knew how hard things were, they wouldn’t be so darned cheerful. And I stubbornly held on to the notion that our lives had been ruined, thinking about all those things that we’d never do again, bemoaning all those dreams we’d never realize. I was a real bundle of joy, I guess.

But as I turned to the east this morning and let that brilliant golden light shine on my face, I had to admit that yes, the anniversary of the stroke brings with it somber thoughts and feelings.  But I’m finally catching on to what all you cheerful folks (including Mary Elizabeth) have known all along. We’ve been blessed. And not just because we feel lucky that it could have been much worse. Honestly, I still have a hard time being effusive over the sentiment that it could be so much worse. Yes it could be worse, but the stroke could never have happened either – that would have been better.

But there’s a net positive gain when it comes to understanding first hand the true nature of compassion – being able finally to accept with clear gratitude the kindness and concern of friends and family – things we might never have realized had the stroke not changed everything.

But most of all it’s the bittersweet revelation that despite my best efforts to bring us all down, Mary Elizabeth has remained consistently positive, full of love – patiently waiting and trusting and hoping for the bright future that band of gold on the horizon this morning – and around our fingers for the last 20 years – promises us.