On Work and Identity

Yesterday, I was having a conversation with a good friend of mine from law school who also suffers from chronic illnesses that make it difficult to work.  We were talking about the jobs we had done that made us feel alive.  Where our passions were.  And I realized that we had lost a great deal of our identity when we lost the ability to work.  One of the first questions we often ask people when we meet them is, "What do you do?"  Why?  Curiosity, of course.  But also because how we spend our time is often indicative of what we think is important.  Some careers take significant time and monetary investment.  A person's dedication to such a career shows that they find it worthy of that commitment.  It becomes part of their identity.  Some jobs are on-call all the time so that it becomes hard to separate job time from free time, again mixing vocation and identity.  So what happens in the world when you can't work anymore?  You lose that label.  You no longer get to claim that part of yourself.  Far different from those who retire and get to retain their label, those who lose the ability to work are seen as less than and even worthless.  And for some of us, who invested largely in our vocation because it was also where our passion was, it feels like a piece of us has died.  Now, I don't subscribe to the idea that a person who does not work is worthless, although I discovered that I have been fairly well-conditioned by society to believe it is true.  Cognitively, I know that my disability did not render me valueless--though I'm still working on the emotional aspect.  But if I still have value, where does it lay?

I decided that I needed to excavate myself.  I thought I would start with some nouns or labels that I thought identified me.  Some labels were easy.  Wife.  Mother.  Believer.  Writer.  Friend.  Other labels took more thought.  Survivor.  Seeker.  Competitor.  Peacekeeper.  Some ideas didn't fit neatly into a single word.  Work in Progress.  Trying to Find Balance.  Moving through Grief.  There were labels I was less inclined to admit.  Empty.  Food Addict.  Some that I hoped were temporary.  Obese. Chronic Pain Sufferer.  And some that were fun to remember.  Music Lover.  Gamer.  But as true as each of these labels are, none of them encompass all of me.  They are all simply parts of the whole. Part of the complex introvert who sometimes wants to go out and party.  Part of the strong woman who can do anything and doesn't need anyone, but feels alone and lonely without friends and loved ones.

I don't wrap up into a neat tidy package.  I don't always make sense.  I'm not always internally consistent.  I am not a simple algebra or calculus problem where I can input all these labels, solve for x, and come up with one ultimate label.  That's not how it works.  This realization made me frustrated and angry.  I had wasted all this time trying to figure out who I am and had gotten nowhere.  But as I sat with my frustration, I realized that what I was searching for wasn't really a label.  What I was missing was the passion I had for my work.  Back when I felt like I was making a difference.  When I loved what I was doing.  I want that back.  What I need to find is something I can do that holds passion and meaning for me.  Like when I was making gift baskets for the Ronald McDonald House in Detroit in memory of Patrick's birthday.  Or when I sang in the choir at church.  So that's where I am.  Figuring out what I can do that will give my life purpose, passion, and meaning until I get back to work, or in case I can't go back to work.  I don't know what it is yet.  It may end up being a few small things rather than one big thing.  But at least I have a goal and a good idea of what I'm looking for.  And these days, Yoda can keep his "Do or do not, there is no try."  I'm following  Trace Adkins: "But all I can do, is all I can do, and I keep on tryin'.  And all I can be is all I can be, and I keep on tryin'."

Who am I?  Just another person figuring life out one day at a time, grateful for grace and forgiveness. What do I do?  These days I'm a professional struggler.  But someday soon, I hope to be something more.
Where do I work?  Hopefully, wherever I am to make changes for the better.

Of Baby Showers, Patrick, and Love

Today I went to a friend's baby shower.  I generally would not subject myself to all things baby when I am in the midst of a baby bug, but this was for a very dear friend.  She was one of Patrick's caregivers.  And because of that, in addition to things from her registry, I went down into my basement and opened up our box of Patrick's things and selected one of his sleep & play rompers to give to her baby since they are having a boy.  I wrapped it separately and marked the card to the baby from Patrick.  I told Phil what I was doing, and he agreed 100%.  Still, I was completely unprepared for the wave of emotion I would feel when she opened it up and then again at the end of the shower when I told her I hoped it was okay with her what I had done (she assured me it was).

Memories of Patrick are all around.  Pictures, books, what have you.  We talk about him, too.  There are days I think we are doing really well, but there are others when it feels like my wound has just been freshly ripped open and I might as well be back at square one.  I had one of these moments walking into the church nursery where I volunteered to watch children during church.  Seeing all of the things we donated just brought his absence freshly to mind in a way I had not expected.  It hasn't gotten easier.  Each week I walk in and all of the memories come flooding back.  I wonder what happened to the detachment and certainty and love I had when I was donating the items and putting the nursery together.  I have no doubt we did the right thing then, and I am certain I am doing the right thing now.  I'm just frustrated that my feelings have taken me on an unexpected journey.

This week marks the anniversary of when Patrick returned to the hospital for his final, months-long hospitalization.  I know that it has a lot to do with my mood.  I wonder if I will ever go through a year without having huge mood swings when these anniversaries come.  I wonder if I will ever stop yearning for a rainbow baby.  But one thing I don't have to wonder about is whether Patrick was loved.  He was so loved.  And he was special.  Not just to me, but to so any people.  And I am still working on ways to spread his love and light and joy with the world.  But I think I managed that in a small way today.  And yes it was sad.  But it was also so very good.  Because there is a new little boy coming into the world who is going to be loved so very much.  And he's going to get his very own Patrick snuggles.  Snuggles like his momma so freely gave to Patrick.  Because snuggles are love.  And love keeps going long after someone is gone.  And for that, I am so very thankful.