Breaking

Why did that sweet boy have to die?

I don't know, friend. I don't know. He was so young. His life cut short by his own hand. He could not have known the grief he would leave behind.

I've often wondered if they truly know what they're doing when they do it. If they understand that it's permanent. To exit this world for the next prematurely.

It could have been different. Maybe. If he had known that "this too shall pass."

Sometimes I wish for my kids never to have broken hearts. Never to feel the pain of loss. Shield them from what really hurts.

But I've learned that there can be beauty in brokenness. When light hits the cracks, the soil of the broken heart brings forth new life. A new talent. A gift before unknown. Compassion.

When something breaks you can see what it's made of.

The folding of socks on a Friday night. July of 2004. So clear even now. I stood at the kitchen table. Folding them in pairs. White. All of them. The grief slipped in unnoticed. Knocked me down when I wasn't looking. We'd been told we could try again. In a year.

A whole *#@&$^! year.

I spent that next day sitting on my bathroom floor. Afraid. Afraid that if I left, I would take more than was necessary to dull the pain.

So I sat there. For an entire Saturday.

I'm not "there" anymore. I have grace. God gifted me with the most wonderful family. The most wonderful friends. My precious friend who has taken care of me time and time again.

Light hit the cracks. New ground was broken. Turned over. Fed and watered. It was long and it was difficult, but the promise of passage was fulfilled. Survival. Growth. Prosperity.

I am blessed. Doubly. I have new socks to fold. And new feet to fill them.

Be kind. This life is rough. It is also incredibly, achingly beautiful. Hang on. Don't let go before you get to see the beauty.

And help someone else. They might really, really need it.

Be kind.

Help Wanted

March. 1 and then 2....all the way here from December. How did it get like this? Each day bleeds into the next and before I know it they become weeks, months.

I can't keep my house clean. I can't make dinner on time. I can't seem to hold things in order without something spilling out and making a mess.

I was not born with the gift of organization. I wasn't exactly born a creative type either. I seem to stand in the carpeted hallway somewhere between the rooms of orderly and hot mess. And I don't feel like I particularly belong in either. I hold my bags on either side of me....carrying weight. The weight of the day. The weight of this week. The weight of what might happen if I don't choose quickly which room I want to stay in. For the night. For what remains of winter. For until my kids grow up and move away from me.

And that's it. My kids will grow up. "Babies don't keep."

This is why I write things out....to show myself what I can't see otherwise.

I'm more guilty than not of the I can't...the not right now....the I'm busy. Too busy trying to tidy up the inside to go and enjoy the outside. That could be a metaphor for living too deeply inside my brain and not moving my body so as to achieve a greater sense of whole. I won't get there by just thinking about it.

I won't make memories with my children, my beautiful children, by lamenting the time I spend doing laundry instead of playing ball or watching the same skateboard trick over and over or holding a chubby baby in my lap and watching her eyes light up as she babbles and coos in her just found voice.

My boy and I....we're struggling. Struggling to find our new place now that we have a new person. "I'm mad at you but I don't know why." I'm just amazed at his six year old ability to even articulate that. That hard place. That anger at something unknown. The what's broken.

He was sick when she was born. I wasn't there. It was his first taste of the "step aside, please....coming through." Sicker than he had ever been.

These hurts matter. And I didn't make it right. I'm trying. Maybe not hard enough. Maybe there's too much laundry. Maybe the floor's dirty. Maybe someone will stop by and see. Maybe I shouldn't care.

"Babies don't keep.".....