By Angela

The Rose

by Bette Midler

Some say love, it is a river
That drowns the tender reed.
Some say love, it is a razor
That leaves your soul to bleed.
Some say love, it is a hunger,
An endless aching need.
I say love, it is a flower,
And you its only seed.

It’s the heart afraid of breaking
That never learns to dance.
It’s the dream afraid of waking
That never takes the chance.
It’s the one who won’t be taken,
Who cannot seem to give,
And the soul afraid of dyin’
That never learns to live.

When the night has been too lonely
And the road has been to long,
And you think that love is only
For the lucky and the strong,
Just remember in the winter
Far beneath the bitter snows
Lies the seed that with the sun’s love
In the spring becomes the rose.

The Rose, by Bette Middler, has been one of my favorite songs for a long time. It had special meaning to me as I entered my early adulthood years. Though my parents did encourage some positive qualities in my life, we had fundamental differences in other important areas. One of these areas was whether to trust and love people other than family.

To bond tightly with them and go along with their belief system such as “blood is thicker than water” and you only confide in and trust family members, was not something I would commit to. I always felt like an outsider in my family. I was different and differences were not valued in my family. That kind of existence seemed like a bleak-looking winter, with everything cold, lifeless and dead.

They told me I couldn’t possibly make it on my own. I suppose they wanted to keep me safe, even if I was miserable. When I turned 18, I had to make a choice about whether I was going to live in fear or if I would chose to take a chance, learn to dance, dream, love and live. I chose to take a chance and nurtured myself so the seed of who I truly was could grow. I became a Rose through my own efforts. I was happy, beautiful and successful Rose that was excited about life, despite the thorns that occasionally stick all of us.

My brain injury seems to have thrown me back into struggling with these issues all over again. Living life with a brain injury looks too much like another bleak, cold, lifeless winter. I have to remind myself to hang in there, feel the fear, yet know that one season follows another. It will not remain wintertime forever. New growth is getting ready to emerge for springtime. The messages I tell myself is what is going on under the surface. Whether or not I am able to shine the light of love upon myself will either nurture or strangle the Rose I can become from this experience.

© Angela Cramer, 2008

Tags: TBI, traumatic brain injury, acquired brain injury, post concussion syndrome, inspirational songs, disabled, handicapped, the rose, bette midler


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