Still waiting for spring? If you have the pleasure of living in the Vancouver/Victoria area, you’ve already had your annual blossom count. Vancouver streets and boulevards are aglow with the pink blush of Japanese Cherry trees, magnolias and rhododendrons bursting open.
Even so, we’re always waiting; anticipating the next month; warmer temperatures, bbqs and beaches. Such is human nature! Waiting does not come naturally.
I’ve waited…for doctors’ referrals, pain clinics and rehabilitation experts. I have waited in a long queue for M.R.I.s, the pharmacy, and x-ray labs. And… I waited for life to make sense again.
All this ran contrary to our cultural norms of quick completion and get better now! My injured brain needed rest. Processing speeds only knew slow motion if and when they were working – at all!
“Slow down”, my therapist said, “this will take time.” My weary self did not want to hear that phrase again! What good can come of waiting?
I learned a valuable lesson on that subject lately which I hope you too might find relevant.
It’s Easter weekend and I made a quick trip up to visit family in northern B.C. I landed in a snowstorm. No blossom count here – just snow piles, frozen lakes and overcast skies. We were preparing for our annual Easter feast. Groceries, bread to bake, ham to glaze and set a very large table to accommodate our very large family. One more task remained – pull the parsnips from the garden.
The entire garden was harvested last August with the exception of the parsnips. They stay in the ground. Fall arrives, laying a patchwork quilt of leaves over the garden. Winter snowdrifts spin cocoons around the roots. Groundhog shadows come and go. March arrives and the garden appears between the lumps of snow.
I watch my 95-year-old Dad carefully shovel, then gently pull the yellow heads from the moist, spring earth. He explains their winter hibernation to me as he works.
“The longer they stay in the cold frost, the sweeter they are. That cold temparature converts the starch to sugar. They are firmer because their roots go deeper. You don’t want to pull them up any sooner…you wait, don’t disturb the process, it takes time.”
In a sudden moment, I remember my therapist’s words: “this will take time”. The truth of this moment in the garden resonates so deeply. I feel tears well up as I realize: “I am that parsnip”!
Years of painful, slow recovery made me feel like I indeed existed underground, unseen, and forgotten. Yet, during that season, life was happening. New roots were forming in my injured brain, neuroplasticity working its wonders, firmly anchoring new patterns in place. The vulnerability I felt at that time has indeed given me much deeper empathy and compassion for people working through difficult circumstances.
Am I sweeter? Well, that remains to be seen! Living with Traumatic Brain Injury has its challenges. It changes the landscapes we were used to. Let life teach its lessons as we move through this journey and remember the Winter Parsnips.
