Perhaps we never know our finest hour.
Maybe we identify it through promotion, when our child’s born, adopting the dog, cat or other pet we always wanted. Perhaps it’s realizing a dream to attend Taylor Swift’s Eras Tour, or attending a Beyonce concert.
For those, like me–who prefer to stay away from crowds–maybe it’s realizing how happy you are listening to the sound of birds.
Or do we expect others to identify our finest hour? Does it really belong to others at all?
Maybe we discover our finest hour on vacation.
What if “the finest hour” is a myth? I’d consider there are multiple hours where we find ourselves at our best, which don’t belong to others. They’re the moments out of the spotlight. They belong to us.
I don’t think I’ll ever find my finest hour in the public sphere because I’ve had to face the reality of what my longterm health will and will not allow me to do. Overall, I’m physically healthy, but living with post traumatic stress disorder following our daughter, Corrie’s, sudden death took–and takes–time, therapy, diet, medicine and exercise with which to deal day-to-day life.
While there might be an attitude of “It’s been four years. Haven’t you moved on” attitude from some, what I witnessed and who I lost left a scar, an illness, that will never fully heal. I will live, but I’ve had to create a life in which I thrive.
When it comes to our finest hour, it isn’t our greatest accomplishment or what the world sees. Perhaps it’s not a myth, after all, but the moment when we acknowledge we must do what is right to live our best life.
I might always struggle with the fear of being judged as a mother, and trying to mother in the same space where I work. I know I shouldn’t care what people think, but what the world doesn’t see is how hard I’ve worked to come to this point.
When I faced possible hospital time in April, I knew I had taken steps back. I had to rebuild. An event triggered the memories of May 27, 2020 taking me back to that day. I no longer felt familiar places were safe.
I know I try my best, but while I might look calm outside, I struggle immensely with anxiety related to the PTSD when I’m out in public. One of those places is a space which I venture regularly, so I look at what I can change or control.
My finest hour occurred when I made lemon pound cakes for my dad, husband, and son for Father’s Day and Hayes’s birthday. It happened when I looked on the front porch, and saw more Calla Lilies and Dahlias blooming from bulbs I’d planted in pots.
What do you consider your finest hour?
TikTok: @corries_mommae
Photos, video, and writing by R.A. Bridges
Corrie's Season 