When death comes to visit, it can be so devastating. All we feel is loss. We feel that our heart bank is in the negative, but that’s just our pain. Grief is really just an overabundance of love that doesn’t have a receptacle to receive it. Think of a bottle filled with your favorite beverage poured right onto the counter… The beverage is amazingly delicious and refreshing from a glass, but when you pour it onto the counter it makes quite a mess… an inconvenient, unpretty, unpredictable, nasty mess. The drink… is amazing when it has a place to go, but when the designated vessel is missing— the drink… the love… the thing that once brought so much joy suddenly hurts like hell. That’s grief.
I choose to believe that in each loss, when someone is taken from us… something is left behind.
I was pretty rough and tumble as a child. I played with my brother and his friends all the time and wore my tomboy title like a badge of honor. I even earned a few bumps and bruises along the way. So, the scab didn’t concern me at all. I'm not a free range parent, but I'm also miles away from helicopter parenting. I mostly let children being children. They run, they play, they fall. The end.
My boy was up in his Nana's lap when she noticed the atrocity on his knee."What happened to my baby’s knee!?!” If your children have a Nana like my children; you know she acted like the boy had staples in his knee. She was appalled. So, I quickly told her what happened according to his father who was his caretaker at the time in question *snicker. At the end of my explanation, I gratuitously added, “And he didn’t even cry.” *insert my proud face