My family was also impacted by my illness. By all of it, actually, but hilariously by my difficulty with words.
For instance, I could no longer grocery shop but I could write out a list. Sort of. (“What’s clery?” my son wanted to know. Or “I can’t read this, but Mom says it’s in this aisle. Let’s see if we can find it.”)
I could no longer do much housework, but the instructions I gave were inevitably garbled. (“Refrigerate the sofa. No, I mean vacuum the refrigerator.” I really wanted the sofa vacuumed. Could no one see that?)
Often things made no sense at all. I remember smiling at my daughter and saying, “Zipper!” I don’t even remember what I wanted her to do.
Requests became strange. (“May I have more vowels, please?” I meant vegetables.)
My body didn’t work and neither did my mind: speaking, reading, remembering, understanding, all gone. It was during this time that I began taking sermon notes. Otherwise I would never remember what had been said.
Interestingly, I could remember songs. “Yes,” said a Occupational Therapist friend. “Music is processed in a different part of the brain.”
The Psalmist says,
O Lord, you have examined my heart
and know everything about me.
You know when I sit down or stand up.
You know my thoughts even when I’m far away.
You see me when I travel
and when I rest at home.
You know everything I do.
You know what I am going to say
even before I say it, Lord.
You go before me and follow me.
You place your hand of blessing on my head.
Such knowledge is too wonderful for me,
too great for me to understand! Psalm 139: 1-6 NLT
“You know everything about me… You know my thoughts… You know what I am going to say…” Is it true? This frustration does not frustrate God? He’s got it? He’s got me?
Looking back, I see the humor. Not so much at the time. But looking back I also see that God was always there. “You go before me and follow me. You place your hand of blessing on my head.” True then; true now. Whatever I might say.