Selectively Juggling

Quite literally I’ve received some amazing advice, but two moments of monumental importance ring out.

Firstly, as I stood in my then almost 3-year old daughter’s neurologist hospital office, hearing the words “your daughter’s MRI scans and other tests confirm she has TSC” (Tuberous Sclerosis Complex) Through a torrent of free flowing snot-streaked tears I stopped, stood framed by the nondescript doorway and heard myself ask, as if imploring him for some sage like wisdom “So Dr what do we do now? How are we meant to treat her”. I watch in slow motion as his thoughts formed words … “You treat her like any other beautiful three-year old girl!” . I let those words and intentions wash over me, as I held her beautiful little hand in mine. And with those seeds of healing I walked out of the rabbit warren of hospital specialist rooms and out into the harsh discordant lights and sounds of personal healing and continued growth. At first I needed to feel the grief and fear of the unknown – albeit briefly, as soon those poignant words of advice took root in my fertile loving mind and heart.

The other pearl of wisdom came from the laconic lips of my wise and radically compassionate father. After another one of our heated parent – teen arguments he looked at me squarely and declared “you know you don’t have to attend every argument that you’re invited to!” I looked at him, smiled and pondered the depths of meaning …. It resonated somewhat strongly. It further developed from the initial words of advice, to also include “you can’t rationally argue with an idiot, or someone unwilling to listen – save your breath” and “we each may listen to the same words, but completely hear something different”

My dad had a theme ‘the importance of communication”. They were also the words of advice he gave to me and my husband on our wedding day “above all things – a successful marriage needs healthy communication”.

Perhaps the fact that my father was able to see that I was different from my nine siblings – always a little more cerebral and introspective. He knew words and clarity mattered to me. He also knew that I had an insatiable appetite for social justice – and I would argue until I was blue in the face, especially if it was over something that I felt mattered. I guess I was blessed to have a father who saw me – knew my strengths and areas of wobble.

I’m grateful to the neurologist for his simple, yet poignant words of advice. I’m grateful that I heard them, felt them and embodied them.