January Ruminations

I've been wanting to lighten up some of my writing lately, but I keep coming back to this kind of basic January writing, its darker, colder.  In January I find myself more introspective, more focused on uncovering, digging. I spent some time today going back through my personal blog - the private one I write mostly for my kids. Almost exactly five years ago, I wrote this essay. It was on the heals of my 59 year old father-in-laws sudden death, which was unfortunately only ten months after the sudden death of his 32 year-old son (my husband's only brother).  A lot has changed in the last five years - my sister-in-law has found a beautiful love again and had another baby. We've added a fourth child, named after his uncle and grandfather. We've made some peace with the realization that loss is as much a part of life as love is. If you've read other posts, you'll see some common themes. Thought I'd share... - BTH

So I've been ruminating about a lot of things these last two weeks, thinking about how we'll talk to the kids when they're older about the events of the last year. I wonder all the time how much they will remember - how all of this affects kids even when they don't have formal memories. And one of the hardest things for me to accept is that for the first time I've felt an absence of God at times. I've felt empty, cried out, exhausted and fearful. It's a bit hard to admit, but it is the truth. I've had a hard time wanting to try and focus in mass, I couldn't tell you what the homily was about at my father in laws funeral, I couldn't really listen.

This doesn't mean we haven't been praying. Every night before we go to sleep, my husband and I say a prayer together, reflecting over the day, our blessings and our future. And that act has helped us, to relax, to let go, to refocus. But I've found myself a little angry during the day. Angry about what we've lost, angry that I know this isn't the last heartbreak, for the first time I think I really saw that life is as much about loss as it is about love. I've been wondering how God thinks we're going to get through this - and whatever else comes our way. I cannot look at the sorrow on my husbands face without feeling truly helpless and a little sick. I've been trying to be really positive, but I just haven't felt it.

Yesterday while I was feeling a little desperate and maybe a little sorry for myself, I had a quiet moment of renewed Grace. I was thinking about the things I've learned in the last year.

• There is no right thing to say when someone dies. Send a card, a note, flowers, memorials, don't try and say the right thing, just let them know you care and you're available.
• Relaying your own horror story doesn't help people feel better - they know they are not alone in their suffering, but having to bare yours too is just too much at the beginning.
• Ask people how they are - take the moment to give someone the opportunity to talk or to move on. Really care. Really listen. You never know how "Are you OK?" might change the future.The Athlete  helped save a neighbor's life about 6 weeks ago because he paused and asked if he was OK and then stayed with him and called an ambulance. He has a wife and three daughters who had a husband and father at Christmas.
• Grief makes people tired and feel like they aren't themselves. Sometime I look at my husband and he looks winded - like he's running a race.
• You cannot reinvent your past, the choices in your history are just history. Today's opportunities are the only things that really counts.
• We all need help. No one can get by alone.
• Be gentle with yourself and the people around you - we're all doing the best we can - and sometimes it isn't enough, but sometimes it is.
• When someone asks you for help, don't hesitate, say yes. You can always figure out the logistics, but sometimes all the other person need to hear is "yes". It is probably harder for the person to ask for help than it is for you to do the favor.
• If someone shows up at your front door unexpectedly, maybe God thinks you need a push in the right direction.
• A robed man with a beard and a Shepard's pole is for illustrated children's books - in my experience there is no lightening bolt, no burning bushes. God's hands are in people who show up to stand behind you, beside you and if need be, to carry you when you cannot bare it yourself.

And I thought about all the help we've received (and even more that has been offered), all the people who have arrived at the kitchen door with chili, lasagna, pizza, chicken, pasta, and chicken noodle soup. Our core babysitter,  brought over cookies and wouldn't take any money on Saturday night when she babysat. She's a junior in high school and she told us, 'I just thought you needed a night out'. And all the people who I can tell are heartbroken for us - when you talk to someone and you can tell they just bleed for you - somehow that's comforting.

And that's where my moment of Grace happened. I felt stronger. I don't mean to make it sound like I'm wrapping up grief neatly - sadness and loss are very messy stuff - but I'm starting to remember that the hand of God is covered in the love of the people around you. And the only way forward is to receive Grace when it shows up or calls and to be Grace when you know you can.