Five Magic Words

It’s the worst, this grief, forced upon me and holding me hostage. I feel very numb to a lot of things I used to get worked up over. I don’t care much what people think of me anymore. I don’t know if my writing career will take off, or if this book will ever be published. But I do know this- If one person reads my story and it helps them, then it was worth every late-night typing and worrying. It was worth sitting in this uncomfortable chair at this wiggly loose dining room table. It was worth pouring my heart out on paper and taking a risk that others will be angry or overwhelmed reading it. I am sorry it took me so long to convey the feelings onto paper. I just couldn’t. As I am beginning to write this I face my 44th birthday with fear and anxiety because last year on this day, I was watching my daddy die before my eyes. I was holding his hand and he was squeezing it, giving me a little smile and telling me he loved me. Those were his last words to me, and I couldn’t have asked for more. Except I do.

When you read my words please don’t think I am crazy. I have a sneaking suspicion I am just like all the rest of you- I am broken. I am human. I am full of ideas and emotion just gets in the way. I have a heart which is directly connected to my soul and when it's on fire, they both are on fire, and when it hurts, they both burn. I feel sad and they both weep and when I need Jesus they both cry out. My heart has bled, and my soul follows up right behind. I feel liberated to share this pain with you because it’s the only way I can find release. Every grief journey is different for sure, but we all travel it because we loved fiercely, deeply and boldly. We loved without condition or rules.

When its stripped away from us we cry like an infant. We need our Father in heaven to heal our wounds and they all come at different costs and timing. We must learn the hard way, as with everything else, that we are human, not invincible. None of us will be spared- eventually, we all pass into the next big thing. And when we do, what kind of legacy will we leave for those who grieve us? How do we learn to deal with our own grief and teach those behind us to deal with theirs? How do we make sure they know its ok to be sorrowful, have regrets and to live again? We can only record how it affected us. We can only share our own heartache and ask they walk with us as I am asking you to walk with me.

My grief is not pretty- it's been very ugly at times. I have good days and bad days and really, really, bad days. But I still have days. They matter, they count, and they are precious to me. I want you to know yours are precious too, and grief eventually can be seen as a gift. It's an odd thing to call it a gift, but it is one because it proves we are capable of love. Sometimes, knowing we are able to love is the best realization we have, even when it comes late.

While this portion of my story is personal, I know from talking to others who are grieving I am not alone. Every persons’ story is unique, yet we all have things in common. I hope by putting this into words I can help you find a way to cope with your grief and understand you are not alone.