The Pain Never Lasts Very Long

We were all working in the yard over the weekend. Spreading mulch, dividing daylillies, minor repairs. Side by side. The whole family. Ok. So, we had to bribe our daughter with gas money for her upcoming trip. But we were still having a great time. One big, happy family.

A thorn jabbed me under my nail. Deep. And it hurt.

“Ouch!” I cried.

My youngest son, all 7 years of him, rushed over, grabbed my hand and said, “Don’t worry, Mommy! The pain never lasts very long.”

I smiled. Savoring his wise words. Starting to dismiss them. Because our family has been struggling through a heaping basket full of minor and major mishaps for the past five months.

And then I realized, he’s right. In the huge (and in our case it has to be huge because we still haven’t seen the end to the crap parade that’s been coming down our street) grand scheme of things everything we’ve been going through is going to look like a tiny blip on the radar. Tiny. At least, fingers crossed, that’s what I’m predicting.

Have you ever sat there, in your comfortable life, thinking things were so hard? And wishing for the days when things were so easy? You’re in your forties, with college looming ahead for your daughter, wondering how in the world you’re going to help finance it and wishing you were in your thirties when her biggest expense was a new bicycle. Or you’re in your thirties, struggling to give your children everything they deserve, wrestling with their constant demands, wishing for the carefree life of college. Or you’re in college, struggling with studies and holding down two jobs to help pay for your existence and wishing for the easy days of high school when your biggest dilemma was what to wear or which social activity to attend.

It’s all relative.

And it’s true, the pain never lasts very long.

In a blink of an eye, your daughter is being placed in your arms at the airport. Sweet, cuddly little bundle of joy from Korea. Blink, blink. And she’s 10 years old, doing her adorable judges salute at the state gymnastics championships. Blink again and she’s struggling with a death of a boyfriend, honors and AP classes, essays for college applications.

Or she’s struggling with pain you feel you created for her. A dad, the man you married much too young and later divorced, who is making her feel like a burden, less than valued, an inconvenience. You try to take away her pain. You try to tell her the pain never lasts very long. But your words feel hollow and thin.

As much as this pain that she’s struggling with hurts right now, it is true. It will dissipate.

And be replaced with something new.

And thank goodness, that pain will never last very long either.

Group Hug Through the Bloggysphere

(Sad alert – do not read if your Christmas spirit will be in jeopardy – you have been warned!)

I spent so much time and energy wrapping myself up in the Christmas spirit and trying to be upbeat and positive about the upcoming season. But frankly, something was weighing heavy on my mind. And since Christmas is behind us I’m allowing myself to let the sadness in.

Allowing myself. Because I honestly would stop the thoughts from entering my pretty little head as soon as they would surface. I know, for many of you out there, the holiday season is NOT a joyful time. Sometimes this holiday brings bad memories out from hiding. Or you’ve lost loved ones at this time. Or it’s your first, second, tenth – whatever- year without a loved one.

Our family suffered two loses this year. One sudden. One expected. I ache for my side of the family that lost our dear aunt/mother/grandmother. She was ill for a long time. We knew the end was near. But it doesn’t make the loss any easier. And her family. This first Christmas without her. Her children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren miss her so much. She was my great-aunt and I didn’t see her as often as I would have liked. But she was a beautiful role model to me about what a mom should be, how to live life with humor, giggles and joy. She taught me amazing life lessons and I hate it that she’s gone.

The other loss I still struggle with. And he wasn’t even my boyfriend or my child. As some of you may remember, my daughter lost her boyfriend at the start of the school year. Senseless. Sudden. Tragic. Only 17 years old. The funeral was so difficult. Giving my condolences to the parents? Heart wrenching. They were being forced to do what every parent dreads. The unimaginable. Having to bury your own child. Throughout this Christmas season, as I’d shop for my daughter, something would remind me of her loss. Then I’d think of his parent’s loss. I’d start to ache for them, beginning to imagine what it must be like to have to shop for one child when your other child is gone. And I’d stop. Suddenly. And chase those thoughts right out of my head. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go there. And I haven’t. Until now.

I’m aching right now. For the loss that was easier to handle. For my daughter’s tragic loss of her first love. For those poor parents trying to weather through their first Christmas without their son while putting on a happy face for the son still here. And for all of you who struggle through this time of year without those you love.

Death is difficult for me. Loss of any kind is difficult for me. Loss sucks. And I suppose I could say, “Oh, but if we didn’t experience loss then we wouldn’t know the value of what we have.” Or maybe, “It’s all God’s plan.” But I don’t want to hear that right now. I might someday. But not now. Now I’m just going to be sad.

I candy coated my 2009 holiday season and made it to today. But today, in the afterglow (or is it aftermath?), I’m feeling a little empty. And I don’t have any words of wisdom or upbeat outlooks. I’m all out of them. I used them up in the weeks leading up until now. I’m just sad. Sad for me. Sad for my daughter. Sad for my family. Sad for dear boyfriend’s family. Sad for all of you who are hurting.

I’m so, so sorry for any of you hurting out there. I’m reaching out my arms right now, through the bloggysphere, so we can have a group hug.

Sigh.

That’s a little better.

May You Rest In Peace, Sweet Boy

This is not supposed to happen to MY baby girl. This happens to you other mothers out there. Not that I wish it on you. Of course not. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone. But I’m just as bad as you teenagers out there. Thinking you’re invincible. Thinking that you’re so grown up. Thinking life won’t throw you devastating curve balls.

A sweet, kind, funny, adorable soul left this earth tonight and he was just 17. A senior in high school. His whole life ahead of him. And my daughter loved him. With all her heart. Her first “true love.”

I’m shocked. This CAN’T be happening. This happens in the movies. On TV. To other people. Not me. How do you help your daughter through something like this? I want to fix it. Rewind the tape. Stop all this from happening. Why? Why? Why?

I’m angry. How dare you take a piece of my daughter’s heart and then steal it away, never to give it back? How dare you treat your life so carelessly? Life is a precious gift. You threw your life back at God’s face. My daughter will never get to say goodbye, tell you how much she loved you ever again.

I’m scared. I want my daughter even closer now. Why do our children have to grow away from us? Make decisions that are risky, wrong, damaging? Why can’t we keep them close? Help them with EVERY stage? Keep them from every harm. Ward off danger. Wrap them in bubble wrap. Hold their tender hands always.

Go. Right now. Kiss your children. Tell them you love them. I don’t care what age they are. I don’t care if they pull away from you ’cause they’re at that embarrassed stage. You squeeze them. You hold them. You guide them. You play with them. Each minute with them is a precious gift. Don’t you ever forget that.