Posts from the Past: #4

23 Mar

I think it’s time for another post from the past.  For those of you new here, I’ve been revisiting posts from my previous blog to remind me of what brought me to where I am now.  Without what I wrote in those pages, I wouldn’t be who I am now.

This particular post brings up some painful memories and is somewhat difficult for me to read.  My friend had just lost his best friend to a hit-and-run Christmas night.  It was beyond devastating to him and his community; and as much as I was saddened by her death, it was even harder to see him in so much pain.  I was planning on posting something entirely different, but then I happened to click on this one and after reading it, I feel like it speaks to me now even more.  I can’t compare the pain of losing my babies to the pain her parents must have been in, even the pain my friend was in, as it’s certainly not the same.  But the sadness and grief is just as real.  What I saw immediately after her death was that her friends came together instantly to lend each other support.  They cried and laughed together as they shared memories, they held one another when they fell from the weight of their emotions.  It was absolutely beautiful.  I know we have that here, and like I’ve said a bazillion times, I couldn’t be more grateful for that.  I just wish that that kind of support for our losses and struggles, happened in our real lives, too.  After going through this with my friend, I know we have that capacity to support one another in real life as well, we’re just not there yet.

My friend ended up naming his daughter after her.  She is so lucky to have her namesake.  B was an incredible woman, and I have no doubt LB will be, too.

(In an effort to help remind myself how I got here and what helped make me who I am today, I’m revisiting some posts from my past.  This was originally posted December 28, 2005.  You can read the intro to this series here , Post #1 here, Post #2 here and Post#3 here)

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I’m sitting here trying to figure out which words that are in my head want to come out through my fingers and onto the screen. There are too many swirling around. The last 36 hours has been exhausting. I’ve been searching for answers that I know are not there, searching for a reason why this had to happen…even though I’m aware that that answer will never be found. In a life where I constantly search for reasons why something is the way it is, there have been too many times in the last few years where I’ve had to accept that a reason will never be known. I can feel my heartbreaking with every tear that falls from his eyes, with every smile I see on her face in my thoughts, with every question still left unanswered. I want to believe so badly that the words I hear myself saying are true, but this is the first time in 36 hours that I haven’t been trying to be strong for someone that needs it so badly right now…and my thoughts are turning darker as the familiar unsettlement returns.

Yet, I find myself in the face of the capacity of the human heart and I’m able to find some solace in the compassion that exposes itself so raw during a time like this…the capacity it has to reach out to another in pain; the ability it holds to drain hard emotion simultaneously with another experiencing similar tearing; the desire it has to do anything it can to make someone else’s pain cease…even if it’s only for a few hours of rest. This undeniable ability we hold in just a few words or movements toward another in pain is sometimes all the answers we need, if just for a moment. It somehow makes the pain of unanswered questions, bearable.

I’ll try to stop searching for answers, and start creating the reasons why I’m still left breathing.

I’ll do that for you. For all of you.

I’ll do that for me.

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2 Responses to “Posts from the Past: #4”

  1. mommyodyssey March 23, 2011 at 3:01 am #

    That was beautifully written.

  2. Hope March 23, 2011 at 7:57 am #

    That was so powerful. The intro gave it context, but the actual post was almost universal in it’s depiction of grief. Which I guess makes the point that grief is universal, regardless of circumstance. Not to say it’s *the same* for everyone, because it is different in different situations, but different doesn’t mean less painful, and I think this post exposes that reality.

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