This is the dark gift

The look on her face is numb disbelief. "it can't be," she says. Then, "Why me? Why now?"
It is not a great injury - a broken ankle. But it had been so unexpected.

This is the first time Alex has collided with an indifferent world. Everything else has up to now has been negotiable, has been arguable. Everything else up to now could be avoided, escaped, bought off, laughed away.

But this is real; this is hers. No one can change it, make it right, make it fair. It is life - an absolute without explanation - that is indifferent to her plans and dreams.

We try to comfort her and tell her it will be all right. Stories and jokes flow of similar experiences. But at heart, there is a small darkness, absolute and irrefutable, that separates us from her and leaves her ultimately and utterly alone.

"This is the dark gift," I tell her.
"Gift?" she says, almost derisively.
"Now you know."
"What do I know?" she protests. "I know that my life is ruined."
"No, your life isn't ruined. Now your life is your life. No one else can fix it or change it. No one else can be blamed. This is yours. And it is up to you what you will make of it."

She hobbles off, consumed in her own sadness. It hurts me to have sounded so callous. But this is a harsh truth,and there was no virtue in denying its existence.

The dark gifts. It comes to us all. The truth you cannot deny that makes you one with the aloneness of others.

(Taken from Small Graces - the quiet gifts of everyday life, by Ken Nerburn)