I've been processing a post for a week. Something I've debated writing about because Max's page is usually very upbeat. But, I decided to write it out because I know I'm not the only one processing.
Last week I sat with my group of supermoms at the memorial of one of our super kids. Sitting there I felt a mixture of emotions. Certainly there was sadness for our friends, who lost their little one so unexpectedly. But it wasn't lost on any of us in that row of support that it could have just as easily been us. There was a strength in our row of supermoms in the back of that church. We were there for that sweet family, but also there for each other too.
Now, before you click off this post for being too melancholy, please stick with me. Hear me out. Because this is a part of life that needs to be talked about, and heard. In this world of medically fragile children, we try to get on with making life as normal as possible. We do school, and outings in the community, and even try to go on vacation. But, it is always, ALWAYS there looming in the back of our minds that something could happen and our child's light could go out too soon. And we're always reminded most keenly when we lose one of them.
As I drove home from the memorial of this sweet little girl, I called my sister and told her what I was doing. I told her if she needed a gauge of how you're dealing with the grief of losing your mother five months ago, just go to the funeral of an 8 year old. She offered me her condolences and support, and I think I gave some pat answer like, "it's just part of this life we live.", and moved on to a happier topic.
But in truth, I was a bit of a wreck. Because it's not fair, this life we live. Because no mother should have to bury their child. Because I should not have had to say good-bye to my mother so early in life. I was mad at death. I was mad that people have to say good-bye. I was sad to think that one day it could very well be me in the front row while my tribe of supermoms sit together in support of me.
Somewhere on that drive home, I took a wrong exit and ended up on the other end of town than I intended. I ended up on the road right in front of the hospice my mom died. And I thought, this was some sort of very cruel day. My sadness was not getting a break. I have avoided that road altogether since August, and here I was right in front of the hospice center. And as I sat at a stop light feeling all the feels, I took a breath in and huge breath out. This is life. It begins, it ends. We live on because of the love we've felt from those who have left us. We try to do good by them. We try to get on with living, because we have to. And we're there for one another.
I guess in my roundabout rambling way, I'm trying to say that sometimes it's okay to feel it. I'm trying to put the sadness to words, instead of keeping it in. To acknowledge that life is hard for everyone, on so many levels. This is something I've tried to remind myself daily since August. This is something I've tried to live by for the past 12 years. Life is hard. Life goes on, even through grief. And the burden of heavy sadness will lift a little bit at a time. In the meantime, I strive daily to be kind to others, because you never know what they're going through. And give Max more cuddles. And remember my mom with happy memories. And try to put one foot in front of the other and get on with living life.
“Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o-er wrought heart and bids it break.”
― William Shakespeare,