A sad and grateful heart

In the interest of sharing the good along with the bad, I bring you this post:

My spiritual mentor/“mama” (if you don’t have one of those, get one. And fast!) has long preached and modeled the practice and gift of gratitude. Admittedly this is one of those things I just did without question or much discussion because when Mama M tells you to do something, you do it; she’s wise and I never have to question where her heart is. So I’ve been at this practice of gratitude on a daily-to-sometimes-nonexistent basis for the past, approximately, five years. I don’t know that it has always, if ever, felt earth shattering. I am also notoriously bad at being in tune with myself on a regular basis. Unless the emotion is strong, I don’t give it much attention, so it’s likely that I don’t notice the little shifts. I think that’s definitely been the case with the impact of gratitude in my life. It’s like a muscle I’ve slowly been trying to build over the years and until I actually go to do some abnormal, test-my-limits lifting, I don’t really see the growth or impact. I think in some ways that’s what has come to light in the midst of this loss.  I didn't see or fully experience the transformation gratefulness has to offer, but I'm beginning to recognize it now. I believe it’s the reason I’m not scared to feel all the big, painful feelings and have any amount of strength to do so. I've been keenly aware of the ways I have been loved through the hardest experience of my life and have been sustained by. Granted, some days it’s still hard to identify anything I’m grateful for, but when the dust settles on an emotionally hard day, the gifts start shining through.

I think I previously expected that the practice of gratitude would make the painful/hard things not hard and painful; probably part of the reason for my inconsistency. I’m experiencing more the reality of gratitude as something to carry me through the pain. If I was unable to see any good, any hope, any joy, then the sadness would overtake me; it would simply be too much to face. However, God reminds me everyday, when I choose to see it, that He’s always at work doing something; bringing new life and hope. There is beauty to come from the loss of my brother, not because what happened was good or ordained by God, but because God is good and He doesn’t waste anything. He will bring forth some sort of redemption and I want the eyes to see it.

Something else to ponder...

Be Kind. Always.

The other week I cried while getting a massage. To be fair, it was a few tears and my masseuse didn't have a clue. She assumed I asked for a tissue because lying on my stomach had stuffed up my nose, but it did not.  As soon she has began to massage my shoulders it was like the weight of the grief I have been carrying for the past 4 months began to loosen and the tears just started coming.  I had no idea how much I needed all of the emotion to physically be worked out of my body, nor entirely aware of the physical stress it was taking on my body. When the massage was over, I had gotten dress and began walking down the hall to the lobby, I literally felt like I was floating. No joke, my masseuse made that exact comment, as I almost stumbled my way out the door.

During the massage, we made small talk at different points talking about my kids and her grand-kids. I think she must've mentioned having twin-somethings because I shared that I "had" a twin, but she did not pick up on the past-tense. I'm not entirely sure if I wanted her to. It's a strange thing though, walking into any interaction with a complete stranger and feeling like I'm wearing this invisible wound.  It reminded me of the quote above and the fragility of this world.  I suppose that's why loss tends to make us more empathetic, because our hearts are softened to the pain of others and our eyes are more keenly aware of the brokenness around us. This doesn't mean we always get it right or say the right thing. I think we are all capable of forking* it up when unexpectedly faced with someone else's pain.  It just always feels like a loaded question when someone who doesn't know about my loss asks "how are you?" It's rarely an appropriate situation to share the truth, which just leaves me feeling alone and disconnected in these seemingly normal interactions.  At the same time, it also leaves me wondering how many times I have encountered someone unknowingly suffering; probably far too many.

I hope that as I move beyond the deep, deep sorrow to a place where my heart isn't perpetually aching, that my heart can continue to remain soft to the pain of others and the reality that we are all carrying some form of pain however big or small.  I hope that I will continue to learn to stop and engage wholeheartedly in a way that communicates that whatever they're going through, they matter and they're not alone. 

*The Good Place, anyone?