I have spent the past day or so with Harrington, as he walks through a shadow, so to speak. He went to the doctor the other day, where he received some serious news. His injury has reached a point that a prognosis can be made as to his future, and it is not quite what Harrington might have hoped.
Brid says it is actually quite good: in time Harrington will walk again, though his movements will be limited, and he will always have to use crutches. Harrington, however, is disappointed. Humans cannot help but hope, and he was able to tell himself that his worst fears were the product of despair, that they were not really true. But now logic and truth comes to him when his emotions have calmed, and they tell him that he will not be able to work as he always has. Everything he has ever done has now been changed forever.
It is easy to take something for granted, and when such things are taken away, it is even more painful. Harrington not only grieves for what he has lost but blames himself for not appreciating his health more when he had it. As if there were not already enough to pain him in this—he has lost his plans for his future. The very security of his family is threatened, and even Harrington’s own self-image is changed.
There is not much that I can do for him in this time of struggle. Brid, I feel, has been more of a support. Her advice, often repeated to him in the past few days, will stay with me, too. “Allow yourself to grieve for what you have lost,” she says, “because that is good and right. But do not let yourself despair. There is still a way to be happy, for you are alive, and you are well.”
To that I add one simple thing: “You are not alone.” I remind Harrington that his family is there for him, that his relationship with them has gotten better rather than worse over the past few weeks, and that they will help take him through the darkness and back to light again. It will be different, but it will still be light, and he will find happiness again.