Life is full of patterns that are self-similar across different scales. Take the index finger on my left hand, a little thing. It was stung by a wasp. Hurt like hell. The finger swelled up, turned red, got stiff. I despaired. Then it started getting well. I can see where the stinger went in, but it’s getting back to normal. There’s still a bit of swelling, but it’s going down. There will be some residual something to serve as a reminder, but the hand feels functional.

Now, take my heart, a big thing. My wife died. My heart broke. It hurt like hell. Everything was tasteless, there was no joy, life was a drudge. Then it started getting well. I went to counseling. I started doing things. Little pleasant memories of trips with friends, warm hugs, and laughter started layering over the pain, filling in the void, asking it to make room for a little bit of life. For instance, over the last three weeks, I’ve watched my granddaughter do splendid things on the track through her district, area, and regional meets. She set personal records, won events, and eventually qualified for the state meet. A crowning achievement. And I was there for all of them, and now those are the recent memories and I still feel good this morning.

Of course, I wish my wife could have been there to see them, but she’s not and that still hurts just like my finger does when I bump it. And it always will. But in two weeks I’m going to see my grandson graduate from college in Missouri then try to get back to Austin to watch his sister run, and those new memories will pile up, and I’ll also see my friends and listen to music and get warm hugs and off we’ll go. My fractal life. Hurting and healing in an endless cycle, while trying to live, and find the joy that eases the pain.

John W. Wilson is the author of The Long Goodbye: A Caregiver's Tale