The Only Reason to Cry

 I’ve had to hold myself together a lot when these children have uttered heartbreaking realities of their loss. Recently, this one from my oldest really took me aback. She was casually explaining an experience  that she'd had that night in worship, In telling me  the story, she started to talk about how powerful the song was, and how the worship leader began to cry during the song. And very nonchalantly, she quipped, "I remember when crying in worship was the only time I had to cry. It felt like a dagger. She’s a child. One of the best kids that I know. Patrick and I cultivated an environment of worship in our home and it showed in our children . Even in lament,  they worship and cry out for help. A worship leader was crying from an emotional evoked by powerful song.  But my daughter making the link between that type of reverent cry, and the cry of incomprehensible heartache really almost broke me. For those people who can’t help but to offer platitudess when we have lost the thirty-year old rock of our family, I ask that you remember this moment. Remember that this child hasn’t lived long enough to have done anything to deserve this pain. None of us have. If you want to support a grieving family, then please sit with them in their lament.

Trash Bags

 The whirlwind surrounding  the week that we lost Patrick continues to pop up in my head in fragments.  Like the worst highlight reel; without warning. But when I think back on it, I was like a zombie-robot. Just going. Operating on adrenaline and disbelief. I remember my family scurrying around trying to stock me up with things, but the look of shock and sadness in their eyes I can never forget.   At one point, as I was preparing the kids for an activity, I looked over and my best friend was doubled over.  She had been trying so  hard to be strong for me, but I think it hit her. I didn't even shed a tear, I just asked "you alright?" and kept moving.  I was numb and in manager mode.  

After everyone had left to go home and return to their normal lives, I was grateful to be stocked with all of the things.  About six months later, I pulled out the last of the trash bags and it hit me. I was out of trash bags. I had no more cushion. I had to go back to getting things on my own. Patrick was really not here.  And although one would think that my overflowing tears would be in sadness in response to that devastating realization, the tears were those of gratitude.

Someone loved me enough, to make sure I didn't run out of trash bags. TRASH bags. It wasn't anything fancy or super expensive, it was just the thought that someone looked ahead and knew I may not be in a headspace to remember to buy them.  Someone wanted to make this awfully hard life a little  easier for me. I felt loved and seen during the worst time in my life.  I will never forget that.