Recovery & Reflection Series – October 2025

Not my cat, simply a cute picture.

Two weeks ago, on a Friday, Tim brought something home from work — a cold that had been passing through his office. Before long, I felt a sore throat myself. It’s interesting how shared life brings shared symptoms.

At first, I didn’t let myself slow down long enough to notice I was getting sick. I went straight into caregiving mode — vitamins, hydration, all the right things — to make sure Tim could recover. By this Tuesday, he began feeling better, and that’s when I realized the illness had found its way fully to me. The sore throat, coughing, and fatigue caught up, and the last few days have been draining.

Yesterday, I slept most of the day. I did make it out in the evening to help with slides at church, but I haven’t used the hot box in two days simply because I’ve been too tired. Today, I feel a little lighter. I’ve started back with movement — rebounding for six minutes so far — staying hydrated, and eating small, simple things. Two apples, and some water, so far. I know I should eat more, but I’m not sure what sounds right yet. My body is recovering, but my mind feels sluggish.

This is the first time I’ve gotten sick since Mom passed, and I’m realizing what that absence feels like in a new way. She always doted on me when I wasn’t feeling well — checking on me, making sure I rested, offering that quiet motherly care that words never quite capture. Now I’m having to learn how to dote on myself, or find ways to communicate my needs to Tim without burdening him. It’s funny how even in sickness, my heart still tries to protect others from having to worry.

Being sick without my Mom or Dad here feels heavier. There’s a quiet strain that sits beneath the surface — a sense of having to be my own comfort, to mother myself while missing the ones who used to do it so effortlessly.

Still, I know why I’m alive, and I know what I need to do.

Today, though, I’m grateful. My headache — the deep “fishbowl” ache that made every movement hurt — has finally lifted. My energy is returning. The cats have stayed near me, keeping me company in their own quiet way.

So even in the tiredness, there’s a gentle grace to this day. I’m learning, little by little, how to care for myself with the same tenderness my parents gave me — how to rest, recover, and remember that even when I’m unwell, I’m still being held.