On Grief & Gratitude

“Gratitude unlocks the fullness of life. It turns what we have into enough, and more. It turns denial into acceptance, chaos to order, confusion to clarity. It can turn a meal into a feast, a house into a home, a stranger into a friend. Gratitude makes sense of our past, brings peace for today, and creates a vision for tomorrow.” – Melody Beattie

I hoped to have some kind of grand thing to say as I continue to gain perspective on the last year.

I don’t.

Family members are still hurting—and acting out in that hurt.

I am still hurting.

We are all still hurting.

The thing I never expected, though…

My deep, intense grief has changed me.

I have always envied people who are naturally and graciously grateful for what and who they have. I always wanted to feel that in an authentic, genuine way. I even started keeping a gratitude practice (a la Melody Beattie). It felt good, and I processed a lot of anger doing that list. But something was missing…

And when my mom died, that elusive piece finally fell into place.

I suddenly realized how deeply grateful I was for my Pathways journey, so that I had the courage to reconcile with my mom. Together, we built a relationship that was stronger than all of our previous years combined. I will forever cherish the last two years I had with her.

I realized how much my mom actually did for me—how much she sacrificed, how much she gave of herself, how deeply she cared for me.

I realized how many people actually care about me (and by extension, my family). People came out of nowhere to help, offer words of kindness and love, and to just sit quietly and hold me.

(There is nothing better you can do for a grieving person than to sit quietly and offer a hand or hug.)

I realized how selfish I had been when others lost a parent or sibling. It was because of my own fear—I didn’t want to face that impending reality in my own life, and addressing it in someone else’s life made me vulnerable. I have asked for forgiveness for not understanding, for not reaching out when part of me wanted to, for being too afraid of my own thoughts and feelings when I could have stepped into something more important than me.

I have allowed myself to fall completely open. I have been raw. I have allowed others to hold me while I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe. I have posted here and other places. I have exposed grief for what it is, and that has helped me process it and move through it.

I will never get over losing my mom.

You never just “get over” it.

But when I pause to think of how rich my life really is, I am, without a doubt—blown away.

I would trade it all to have her back. Perhaps I could have learned these lessons a different way.

But I can’t change it… all I can do is change my own perception.

Gratitude lives in my heart. Often, my first thoughts when I wake up are, “Oh, good.”

As in,

“Oh, good, I get another day.”
“Oh good, I get to do _____ today.”
“Oh good, I’m up in time for _____.”
“Oh good, I’ll get to see _____ today.”

Etc.

The dark moments are still there. They aren’t quite as close in front of my face as they were a year ago, but they’re still lurking, and they still rise up to punch me in the face periodically.

In those moments—when hope and faith feel like nothing more than oddly-shaped letters written by someone else, and certainly meant for someone else—one thing has carried me through.

Gratitude.

This Thanksgiving, I am doing something whimsical and fun. Maybe I’ll talk about it at some point, and maybe I won’t…

And on Friday, my family is getting together. Not to celebrate… but since this Friday marks one year since my mama’s passing, it felt like the best thing to do. Who wants to be alone on an anniversary like that?

I sure as hell don’t.

In some ways, I feel like I’ve come alive in a completely new way because of all that I (and my family) have experienced this year.

I feel like I can never adequately or appropriately thank everyone who has extended a helping hand over the last year. Everyone who keeps me (and family) in their prayers—those who have mentioned it to me and those of you who haven’t. I have felt shepherded through this year, in a way that I have never felt shepherded through anything. And I thinks The Dude Upstairs™ knew that I needed something extra… a lot extra… and He delivered.

As He always does.

And so, on this Thanksgiving, I am grateful for right now:

For who I am right now
For where I am right now
For who I have right now
For what I have right now
For what I believe right now
For what I hope for right now

Because right now is truly all that we have… it is the only guarantee.

All of the moments of “right now” build up to create moments, hours, days, and years—and the stories of our lives.

That is what truly makes right now precious. Because it’s fleeting, yet if we are present and in the moment… “fleeting” doesn’t matter, because we have experienced right now with every cell, ever sense, every thought, every feeling.

We have this life so that we can live it… right now.

And in my book, that’s about as amazing as it gets…

“The highest tribute to the dead is not grief, but gratitude.” – Thorton Wilder

I Cannot Be Broken

All of the things I've experienced have built the ground upon which I stand at this time.

I am deeply rooted, like an old pecan tree—my roots spanning wide and plunging far beneath the surface towards the core of the earth.

My branches have been broken by trauma, my leaves beaten by the wind and rain of difficulty and strife, my bark stripped by the unrelenting skies of life—leaving me standing here before you, naked—exposed.

How mightily my roots have grown—stronger. My bark has returned, and new branches are growing. At the tips of those branches, tiny leaves are sprouting in the shape of hope.

With my roots so firmly planted in the ground, I have become more flexible—almost fluid.

I cannot be broken.

My arms sway in the wind. My hair whips wildly around my head. I feel the deep-bone chill of cold and the blistering heat of the sun. My skin takes in only what it needs—the rest falls away.

The stronger my roots,

The stronger my soul.

The chaos around me continues.

Inside is silence. Inside is calm.

I cannot be broken.

It is here—in this earth, in this moment—where my home lies.

Here—within me.

Here—in my heart.

I have existed many times, and I will exist many more times.

And yet, I have never before been more present than I am in this moment.

I turn and look at the landscape behind me, and I grieve for all I have lost.

And, I stand in shock—in awe, marveling at the beauty that is my life, the fullness with which I love, and the faith carrying me through darkness I never knew the human spirit could endure.

I am here.

I am now.

I am.

Happy Birthday to Me

I think I'm ok with turning 37, even if it means I'm now in my "late 30s"... which makes me cringe a little.

But, I am healthier than I was at 27.

I am happier than I've ever been.

I have more love in my life than I ever imagined.

I finally work in just the right place for my personality, my skills, and my needs.

My life is decidedly not perfect—and I am recognizing it much faster when I fall back on that perfectionism mentality, too.

My life is quieter, slower, and calmer, and yet—filled with deeper connections, greater intimacy, and vulnerable authenticity.

Truly, I am blessed.

If you recall, my “theme” for 2012 is abundance. What I didn’t realize at first is that to welcome abundance in all its forms: love, money, blessings, health, stability, strength, openness, authenticity, etc… you have to clear out the old.

That means letting go and walking away. It means paring down. It means readjusting priorities. It means knowing and feeling what’s really important and meaningful in your life.

And sometimes that’s not only a difficult process, but painful one, too.

But, like anything else worth doing, it feels good to finally let go. When I let go of my Acura back in February, I had no idea the events that were already cascading into place in the background. It’s as if the Acura was the dam, and once I agreed that the dam was no longer working as intended… it broke loose and I was washed over with a flood of—yes… abundance, in the form of a new job, a newer car, and a renewed lease on my condo.

I also had to truly let go of David. That is something I haven’t found a way to talk about cleverly here (or anywhere), but it was incredibly difficult. I let him go because he wasn’t really all in at that point. He was acting as if I truly wasn’t that important in his life.

Well…

Once I finally (and wholly) let go—he came back. And as I mentioned before, he came back in a very big way. And I have felt altogether overwhelmed, amazed, and deeply humbled at the abundance of love flowing between us and surrounding us.

It proves to me that letting go of what I perceive to be the best I can have makes room for something better than I ever imagined. That is what abundance looks like in this first half of 2012.

Letting go is painful, though. It’s a tough decision and I don’t arrive there easily, quickly, or even all that willingly.

But once I surrender… I’m inspired and awe-struck.

The beauty of letting go is all the unexpected blessings that suddenly arrive. And I am letting them in, too, which is something else new for me.

It feels good.

I think the best thing about getting older is that I feel like I have come into my true self. I am finally allowing myself to “just be me”, which is something I longed for—for so many years. And after a whole lot of hard work, and more than one slice of humble pie, it’s come true.

I am me. And 37 is already looking like a great year.

Thank you for being here on this ride with me. I can no longer imagine trying to do this alone.

Thankfully, I don’t have to.