The Gift of Immobility

Thirteen days have passed since the accident, since I was crossing an intersection with my four children and was hit by a car. It was a sunny afternoon and we were on our way to the library. The plan was to return books and spend a few hours reading and then picking out some new selections. In the middle of the crosswalk that would all change for us. The moment before it occurred was peculiar, helplessly watching a car coming towards us and yet inwardly anticipating a miracle. The miracle came, though the driver never slammed on the brakes. My older boys had made it safely across seconds earlier on a bike and a scooter; I was thrown into the middle of the street and the stroller I was pushing, containing two of my children, was sent coasting in the opposite direction. My babies were supernaturally unharmed, but I had definitely felt the hit.

The diagnosis was double ankle fractures, one which required surgery to perfectly re-align the tibia and fibula with 11 screws and a plate. The day of the accident I was so thrilled and grateful just to be alive. I glanced at the police report which contained two boxes entitled “number of people injured” and “number of people killed” side by side. I knew I had escaped a worse outcome by God’s gracious hand alone.

One of the hardest parts of this experience as a mother is to see my children who always called for “mommy” start looking away, realizing mommy is not able to tend to their needs for a while. The tables have been turned, as I call for their aid and assistance. My role is still to be their mother, but I can no longer attach my identity to my prior list of daily accomplishments. Motherhood now hangs before me like an empty basket, ready to be filled with how I simply treat, love, and admonish my children.

Currently I am unable to even use crutches or a walker while both ankles are still in the healing process. Standing has been taken away from me, let alone walking. The new-normal is days spent sitting and lying down, in a wheelchair, and pulling myself across the floor to get around. To be real and raw, I desperately miss being vertical. I am expected to have a full recovery, praise God. Nevertheless, in this waiting period of healing and immobility, I can’t help but renew my appreciation for the simple pleasure of healthy, functional legs.

My legs were my unknowing sources of joy and pleasure: running, dancing, driving, cutting the lawn, chasing my kids, cooking, baking, rollerblading, and even tidying up the house! I was an active girl, and then it was abruptly snatched away in a single, unsuspecting moment. There is a mental mindset I am fighting each day that dares to tell me I am somehow less of a person because I am physically incapable of getting around independently. As my eyes glance down at my bandages, and my ankle nerves still endure the pain from the fall, I feel broken, somehow reduced.

Conversely, I realize I have been given a gift that not everyone will open in their lifetime: immobility. I have seen others in wheelchairs, and have had close friends who have lived and depended on them. Even so, my level of compassion, empathy and understanding for some of what others who are disabled go through has increased immensely. I am now intimately aware of the difficulty of personal care and hygiene, bathroom necessities, going outside, upstairs, downstairs, around corners, in a car, and much more. This is a way of life for so many in society, but at 37 years of age I never imagined it would be my present reality.

This gift of immobility has also brought about a new balance for my world. Before the accident I continually had the goal of sitting more with my children and moving around less to accomplish daily household tasks. Now the excuses are gone, and it’s just me, their mommy, before them each day. I can’t run away to change a load of laundry or empty the dishwasher before I play Barbies or Legos this time. My children have and are benefitting tremendously from this gift of immobility, experiencing playtime, reading time, and chat time with me at record levels! I am learning to relish every moment with the ones I love most, but so easily forget to slow down with.

Lastly, the gift of immobility has brought friends, family, neighbors, and even strangers to our doorstep more than ever before. I am learning to receive from others, which can be unnatural and humbling. The number of cards, phone calls and text messages, visits, meals, and other acts of kindness shown towards us has been unbelievable. The daily care and functioning of our family during this time has been entrusted to others in a large sense. I am further renewed by the selfless devotion and love from my faithful husband, Jorge Luis, who in the midst of taking care of me today said, “Just your presence with us is enough. I’m here to stay, I’m not going anywhere.” In the tough moments where tears overflow and guilt, frustration, resentment, and shock from this trauma threaten to overtake, I remember the love of a community of people each performing an indispensable part to lessen my burden. Just another part of this gift that I am still unwrapping.

The temporal price of immobility that I now withstand has forever transformed me. I can say in the face of this trial: Thank you, God, for this sacred gift; opening it has given me more of Your heart for the world, towards my own family, and allowed me to truly experience Your heart poured out to us from countless others.

Dear ones, when you feel broken and dejected, whether it be physically, mentally, emotionally or spiritually, may God remind you that it is LESS about YOU and MORE about HIM, and His greater work. It says in Isaiah 40:29, “He gives strength to the weary, and increases the power of the weak.” Whatever we face, may we be crazy enough to view it as a GIFT that allows God to MOVE more mightily, and AWAKEN us once again to His HIDDEN blessings. Amen!