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Waiting for Christmas Day is one of my earliest memories of waiting.

I was 10 years old.

Eagerly, I counted off the days from the beginning of December. Would that day ever arrive? How would I possibly be able to sleep the night before Christmas? I was filled with giddy excitement throughout a wait that felt endless.

Time passed and I was a young woman waiting for my firstborn child to arrive. That elusive “due date” came and went. How much longer would it be? This time, the waiting was a mix of excitement and apprehension. I wondered what it would be like to be a mother. Would my baby be healthy? What was ahead for me?

Many years later, I was waiting again. This time, it was for news of the job I had applied for. I had been a nurse for many years and was ready for a change. I wanted to teach courses to health care leaders about communication and conflict resolution. The time passed slowly as I waited to hear how my interview had gone. Once again, I was filled with a mix of eager anticipation and some worry about how I would manage this new role. Finally, I got the call that I was the successful applicant. This job came into my life at just the right time, and I finished out the rest of my career with a rewarding position as a facilitator and coach in health care.

With each of these examples, I had to let go of control. I couldn’t speed up time or make things happen. The waiting became a lesson in letting go. As I chose to relinquish control, I learned to trust. I believed that things would work out when the time was right.

Today, I am in the midst of a new type of waiting. My husband’s heart is not functioning properly. A recent test showed a blockage in one of his cardiac arteries. Further tests are needed to figure out what will be the best treatment. The advice for my husband is to “take it easy.” No golfing, no hiking or cycling, no walking alone. No travelling. For the past three months, he has been heeding this advice. We are still waiting for information about next steps.

This type of waiting is filled with fear and uncertainty about what his heart can handle safely. We wonder what kind of surgery might be required to get his heart working properly. I feel trepidation, and I am overwhelmed. Because of my nursing background, I know enough to imagine the worst.

Ever since we met, my husband and I have embraced an active lifestyle. On our honeymoon, we hiked at Waterton Lakes National Park, a magnificent place in Southern Alberta. We hiked with our children from before the time they could walk, and now we hike with our grandchildren. We may not be as fast or nimble as they are; however, they are eager to wait for us at the rest stops and cheer us on as we reach the top of a hilly trail.

Now these activities are out of bounds.

I am struggling with these questions:

Who am I now? Who are we as a couple? What does this mean for our relationship?

I am the wife of a man who is unwell. He is not able to do the physical things he used to do. He naps several times a day. He isn’t allowed to lift more than five pounds at once. Where did my strong husband go?

What do we do with our time if we can’t go cycling or hiking? How do I continue to be active when he can’t? What will he do to keep himself occupied?

How do we communicate our fears to each other? Will we be able to be authentic and honest, or will we try to protect the other person and keep our feelings to ourselves?

We are travelling a new path in our marriage. This is a time of transition that includes a shift in our identity, both individually and as a couple. We may not be hiking in the mountains, however, we are traversing new territory in our landscape as husband and wife.

Here are some of the things I am focusing on to support myself. My choice to think about my own needs is necessary if I want to be a caring presence for my husband.

1. I am fully feeling my fear.

One morning last week, I sobbed in my husband’s arms. He held me and encouraged me to let the tears flow. Slowly, the intensity of my sorrow eased. As my tears dried on my cheeks, we talked about the reality of what might happen. I was able to admit my fear of him dying. He agreed that might happen. And, he reminded me that the doctor had said there were options for treatment.

2. I have revised my definition of being strong.

It’s not being stoic and independent. Rather, I am reaching out and asking for a phone call with a trusted friend. I accept help from our teenage grandsons when they offer to mow the lawn for us. There is strength in admitting my need for help.

3. I booked an appointment with my therapist for next week.

She is a healing presence in my life as she uses her techniques of embodied therapy. She has taught me that trauma resides in my body. Following her lead, I am able to let go of emotions that are stuck in my body. It is time to let go of my paralyzing fear and anxiety.

4. I spend time in nature.

A walk in the forest or by a river calms my soul. I also take time to walk on my own so that I can meet the challenges of a hilly trail and release tension with intense physical activity.

5. I slow down my pace of life.

My husband can walk slowly on a flat path, and I saunter beside him patiently. We have a favourite coffee shop where we go for regular dates. A change of scenery does us both good.

6. I notice my tendency to be pessimistic.

It is easy for me to focus on deficits in my life, rather than on what is going well. This is another opportunity to practice “feeling all the feels” and then moving on to gratitude.

7. I am nurturing my friendship with myself.

This waiting is a lonely journey. And, I am not alone. My inner wisdom reminds me that I am loved. I am worthy of being cared for.

Waiting has become a spiritual practice for me. My journal, my deep breathing and meditation, are ways to access peace in my heart. I am able to hold space for both sadness and peace.

I can trust. I know that all will be well, no matter what happens.

What is it like for you to wait? What keeps you grounded and calm in the midst of uncertainty and “not knowing”? I encourage you to feel your fear, and then, ask for support. It could be a therapist, a friend, or your own inner wisdom that leads you to a sense of peace and the possibility of an outcome where all will be well.

Sharing my story has been a healing experience for me. Thank you for reading and witnessing my journey.

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