Showing Off

My parents recently visited from my hometown in British Columbia. They came to spend time with their beloved daughter, obviously, but also so that my husband could go on a much-needed and well-deserved solo trip. (He did, and both he and I are grateful that he had the support and the mental space to recharge his batteries. It was a great early Christmas gift.)

It’d been a bit since I’d seen them—Dad was last here in March and Mom in June—and while I was looking forward to catching up and happy that they were willing and able to help us in this capacity, I was admittedly even more excited about something else: seizing this opportunity to show off.

I’d kept them apprised of the progress I’ve been making, but it was hard to relay over the telephone how much things have improved in the past few months. Though the people I see on a daily or weekly basis notice and comment on the changes, and though I know, intellectually, that I’m leaps and bounds ahead of where I was even in early summer, let alone in March, it’s challenging for me to truly appreciate what a shift there’s been. Sure, I feel it in my increased functionality, and I frequently brag about it, perhaps in part to convince myself that it’s happening, but I also sometimes ignore the big picture and instead fixate on what continues to frustrate me. While I’d like to chalk this up to human nature, I’m reluctantly open to the idea that my difficulty taking in and being satisfied with the gains I’ve made might be a personal flaw.

In any case, no matter how much or how little credit I give myself, I was aware in advance of my parents’ arrival that I had some new skills that they hadn’t yet witnessed me perform. Since Mom and Dad have been central to my recovery process, and since I seem to think that they’re obligated to praise me for my accomplishments, big and small, I couldn’t wait to surprise them.

A few minutes after they stepped into our apartment, I stood up, on my own two feet (with the support of my walker). It was a moment to cherish and remember.

Throughout their stay, I was reminded time and time again why I’m doing this. I was with them, present, in a way that hasn’t been possible in years. I had the energy to go out on mini-excursions with them. I was sharp enough, cognitively, to play game after game of cribbage (and, on occasion, win). I could participate. I opted in but also opted to rest when needed.

And yeah, I showed off because, well, I had something worth showing.