A time to heal

We don’t know if Autumn is the season of healing but there’s a lot of that going on. What we describe here is happening on Diem’s side of the country but the lessons learned defy being hemmed in by borders.

Diem spent most of October doing what she does on most “normal” days. Encourage patients to listen to their body and give it time to heal. But for all of those days she was talking to herself. She listened to her body, took off an extended time, and rested. It’s humbling how hard that can be. Rest isn’t just about sleep or stillness; it’s about surrendering control long enough to let healing do its quiet work.

Somewhere between the long naps and the slow walks, there began to appear small signs of grace. Light changes as the sun moves through the sky. Morning becoming afternoon, afternoons giving way to evening. The rhythm of breathing without rushing. Even in stillness, life continues its own gentle practice of renewal.

In healthcare, talk of recovery is in measurable terms — vitals, labs, outcomes. But there’s a kind of recovery we can’t quantify: the restoration of spirit. That was Diem’s October. A reminder that sometimes the hardest work we can do is rest without guilt, and to let ourselves be cared for by the same grace we offer to others.

October brought the message that healing is not a pause in the work, it is the work.

But it wasn’t over. Then came November. Not even a handful of days in and new lessons are taught and hopefully learned.

Diem’s seven-year-old niece, Caitlinh is a bright, curious, full of life, 30 pound first grader whose smile bursts with sunshine. You’ll never guess that inside her chest beats a heart that’s been working harder than most since the day she was born.

Caitlinh was born with a congenital heart defect. For six years, her family, doctors, and faith helped her escape earlier interventions. Each time she was due to undergo a procedure she miraculously improved. This summer, that intervention became inevitable. Just a few days ago she underwent open-heart surgery, a moment both long-anticipated and anxiously awaited.

The hardest part is behind her. The surgeons have done their delicate work, and now, healing again takes its turn. Her and all who love her are holding close to hope. Hope for full recovery, for renewed strength, for a long and healthy future filled with the bubbling energy that defines her.

It’s strange how stillness can feel so heavy. For a seven-year-old, when one is used to the perpetual motion they are born with, or for an adult, when one is used to caring for others filling each hour with purpose, rest can feel like failure. Sometimes though, the body has a way of stopping us before we stop ourselves.

We too often take for granted the quiet rhythm of our own hearts, and the unrecognized breaths that propel us through our days. For Caitlinh, every heartbeat is a victory. For the rest of us, it’s a reminder to give thanks for what we rarely notice but cannot live without.

Our bodies may have been mended by human hands, but we are held together by something greater: love, prayer, and the grace that guides recovery. The scars fade, but stories go on. Reminders that our greatest power lies not only in keeping us alive, but in keeping hope alive. When we allow rest to have its place and healing to take over, we may return a little slower, a little softer, and perhaps a little wiser, ready to begin again.

Is Autumn a time of healing? We don’t know but we do know it is a time of gratitude. We find ourselves grateful not just for life’s blessings, but for its breath; for the beating hearts that keep us connected, for the healing that follows hardship, and for the love that sustains us through it all.