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.