Pain is part of being human, and the hard lessons we learn from pain often help shape us into better people.
There are entire Pinterest pages of inspiring quotes about living and growing through pain, and most of them — most of the time — make sense. “At the end of every dark storm there is a bright rainbow,” for example.
But what does this mean for those who live with chronic physical pain? Where’s their rainbow?
My friend, Carrie, lived most of her adult life with an autoimmune disease that slowly crippled her joints and robbed her — one joy at a time — of the ability to do and experience things she loved.
By the time she reached her life’s end last week, she could barely speak (let alone sing like she once enjoyed) move her fingers (let alone play the piano like she once enjoyed) or even get out of bed (let alone mow her lawn like she once enjoyed).
Her list of disabilities grew each year, but that’s not Carrie’s story. It’s how she embraced that journey that’s worth noting and what she’ll be remembered for.
I marveled that she tackled cooking, baking, lawn mowing, laundry, pet care and other household duties … despite the pain … sometimes after working with students at school and wrestling groceries into the house.
Her children were active in school, and she refused to miss a concert, play, gymnastics event, prom, etc. Despite the pain.
I remember having influenza one time and basically telling my kids they’re on their own.
Work is hard work. Running a household is hard work. Parenting is really hard work. And life is often just plain hard work.
I sometimes thought that about my own life (and sometimes felt sorry for myself).
Until I met Carrie.
If she could do it, I should be happy to do it with the healthy, pain-free body the good Lord blessed me with.
And so the lessons in pain began.
I had so much to learn.
Not participating in life was not an option, so she forged on. Despite the pain. One foot in front of the other, still finding emotional energy to be a thoughtful, engaging friend.
I wanted her to take it easy … to give her frail body a chance to heal, but she must have known that stopping might somehow mean quitting, and quitting wasn’t an option.
Not when she had a family who needed her and students who relied on her and a whole world of hypochondriacs who had lessons to learn from her.
I don’t know what Carrie learned from her pain, but what she taught the rest of us about living has certainly made us better people.
Rest in peace, my friend. The world is a better place for having had you in it.