I wrote a blog last week; I promise you I did. I worked away on it for the usual two hours on Saturday and as I reread it for maybe the fourth time, I realized something was not sitting right with me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. So… I let it be. If you write, even something as simple as an email, you know that you sometimes have to step back from the keyboard to get a fresh perspective and make sure, as I like to tell my students, that is says exactly what you want it to say.
Early the next morning, I asked JB if he wouldn’t mind giving it a read. I am not sure I have ever asked for a second opinion before hitting *publish* as I can usually feel in my heart when I have put down the right words for the week. But like I said, something was tugging at me about this blog. John gave it a slow once over and as he finished, I pressed him for his feedback.
“It’s depressing,” he finally said, “You may have felt all that sadness at one time, but that is not who you are now. Five years later, you represent, you know, HOPE.”
And there it was. He was right, but don’t tell him that, lol. The blog was titled, “This is Hard” and it was all about well, how hard going through the grieving process is. Because it is. Truly. It is a darkness and a despair I wouldn’t wish on anyone. But to John’s point, the heaviness of grief is not what I want to focus on as I blog. It is not the core message I believe in and it is not who I am in my heart. It is not why I created my non-profit. I believe in the power of HOPE and LOVE and MOVING FORWARD. Those who know me know that I am an eternal optimist – proud wearer of my rose-tinted glasses! When Luke first died, choosing HOPE was all I had and I hung on like a kitten clinging to the dining room curtains, lol. It is not to say I didn’t have my fair share of tough, emotional days – of course, I did, I had lost a son! But I just wanted each day to be a little lighter, a little less painful. And with the love and support of my family and friends, that’s what happened and I got through. I continue to get through. Baby steps.
So here’s what I need you to know: If today is your Day One, I am so very sorry. The pain is excruciating. I remember it well. I also remember questioning, every day, how I could possibly ever learn to live a life without my boy in it. But I did. And I know you don’t believe me, but you will, too. Let me be your therapist and I will listen to the aches of your heart as you make your way. Let me be your cheerleader and I will walk beside you and remind you of how far you have come. Getting through grief is like baby steps. And just like your momma stood across the room, while you tottered and fell and tried again, finally crashing into her arms with success – so do I wait for you. Baby steps. You’ve got this. I’ve got you. Xxx