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.
Women, we need to share our stories. Your friend is smiling every day and is devastated by things she thinks she can’t discuss with you. She’s struggling with something you can’t see. Your daughter thinks she needs to suck it up because you did. Tell her the truth… your truth. Admit you wish you didn’t have to suck it up. Tell your daughter about the mistakes of your youth. Be as specific or as vague as your comfort level will allow, but tell the truth.
Too many of us suffer in pain and silence because of perceived judgment, shame and stigma. When we speak truth by sharing our stories we normalize those things we were once ostracized and isolated by. Do you know how many times I have revealed something and heard… Are you serious, Stephanie??? Me too! Telling the truth helps you reclaim your power. It draws you to women who have yet to secure the footing it takes to stand tall and speak their truth. Truth unifies. Telling the truth says I know I am enough.
My experiences do not minimize me; they elevate me.
This is a journey that parents and children often take. It can be a tough lesson for every one to receive, understand and accept. Especially fathers, who regularly get a bad rap for being too tough, too hard and too emotionally removed. Children, remember that your fathers are there. Sometimes, unequipped to say what needs to be said in a way that you can hear, but still wrought with the desire to see you in the midst of the fog. Make sure that your hand is outstretched so that you can find each other through it all.
I thought of all the times I was afraid to be me. How I worked hard to be acceptable and appropriate and good. Acceptable and appropriate and good do not benefit the folks who are being confined to it. I was bombarded with memories of the struggle to return to me. How it took my whole life to get back to a little girl with almost just right shoes so I could free her from the irrational, suffocating expectations of other people.
I cannot imagine the turmoil, the pain, the absolute heartbreak of her absence in my life. As Mother’s Day approaches many will be faced with the reality of more than “almost”. They will wake up every single day with their beloved mothers still in heaven. While the Christian thing to do is to rejoice knowing that she is with her heavenly father… the heart of a motherless child can hardly find peace; let alone rejoice.
