second anniversary – seven deadly losses and gains

Brutal honesty transforms me more than anything in this world. I treasure the moments we have shared Shane, because they have been truly life changing for me (And I don’t say that lightly, I probably would have well and truly fallen into despair by now if it wasn’t for consitent guidance and the thinking abilities that you have so entrenched). Walking down from Baulkham Hills campus to get a coffee at every break – I almost always had something to say, and your input really shaped me and it absolutely (I say this truly) shattered me when I heard about your accident. You continue to be a inspiration, your life experience and testimony overwhelming. Much love Shane. From Little Shane.

P.s. I did write you a letter when you had your accident, which I now completely regret not sending (I think I wrote it the day after I heard about your accident, which at that moment I thought there would have been too much going on for you to hear it). P.p.s. I remember launching a rubber band (Heat of the moment thing you should have expelled me for!) at your face one time in class, you were completely transforming my Christian framework, and I didn’t know how else to express it, but the irony is … I am so thankful for everything!

Shane.
Your comments touch our hearts afresh. Love your honesty and your seeking to come to grips with the ongoing realities that you face each day. Thank you so, so much.
We thank God for His faithfulness through the most difficult of times and situations of life. We know He is with you and that He sustains you, even on the worst days (& we know there have been some doozies).
We love you, and all your precious family, & never cease to uphold you all before our loving Father.
Blessings,
Dad & Mum B

Hi Shane;
Your seven deadly losses are kind of heart wrenching; but I am glad you expressed them.
In my twenties I read the book by Joni Eareckson written not long after breaking her neck at 17. It touched something deep within me, and I always think of it as the foundation for my life with my husband, who, like yourself, has a C4/5 spinal injury.

Some of your words touch a deep sadness within our family; but I think that is in no way a bad thing. Who knows what those words are developing in the hearts of the people who read them, forming understanding in their futures.
This November will be Don’s 43rd year in the chair.
I am pretty sure that you will just gradually morph into finding this bizzare sort of life perfectly comfortable.

A life with quadriplegia is different and full of extremes. We are forced to be patient. For example today Don spent an inordinate amount of time not daring to move the chair in case he ran over his glasses. Then the chair stopped working in a doorway where no-one could get in or out to move it for him.
From my side of things I have spent so long doing all those extra tasks that I can sometimes display the serenity of a monk when I am interrupted. It is as though there are so many tasks that those very tasks take on a quality where one is no more important than another so an interruption is merely switching movement.

Our bad days can be very bad. High fevers, huge spasms frailty and vulnerability. Stuck in bed for longer than you ever thought possible. Somehow though; with that comes a corresponding greater pleasure in a simple day where there is wellbeing.

We have great days, special occasions, nice dinners, grandbabies; all really that life can offer.
There even came a day where our sex life lost its self-consciousness.
Not that I’m never unreasonable. For example I can clean up nasty messes from my husband with pleasant equanimity, and then nearly throw up because a carer has left their spitty toothpaste all over the mirror. Meltdown.

You get to grow in some ways and find ways around the rest.
Peace to you and your family from ours.
Keep writing
Clare