It’s no secret that the center of my universe is my three daughters. Those who know us well are often surprised by how different they are in personality. I believe this is a parenting victory. My north star for great parenting is my mom and she also raised four unique individuals. Her advice was that each child needs to learn to read and to love reading. Nurturing a love of reading in each of her children and in each of mine required individualization well before that was a trendy education term. And encouraging each child to pursue their passion was an example my parents set and Chuck and I sought to emulate. So I took it as the biggest compliment when the only high school teacher who taught each of my girls asked me with something bordering on bewilderment how I could have raised such different kids.
Throughout our grief journey, a journey that is intensely personal yet has drawn us closer as a foursome, it has been interesting to note the similar phases we encounter. However, this week I was struck by the comment one of the girls made as we navigate the thicket of birthdays and anniversaries. She claimed the big days didn’t rock her so much. It was more the unexpected little reminders that knocked her off stride. (I am capturing the sentiment, but the terminology is mine.) I wondered if she was simply putting on a brave face or if she really was experiencing the beast of February differently.
I was reminded of that today. This should be my week to breathe. If February were the Boston Marathon, I’d be well past Heartbreak Hill (which those of us who have run it know is a series of hills!) and seeing the Boston skyline ahead. I’ve survived the Valentines, Anniversary & my birthday gauntlet. I can catch my breath before the last milestone of Chuck’s 70th birthday this weekend. But just as the view of that skyline around mile 23 is deceiving, letting my guard down was a mistake.
Today was a normal day. A seemingly manageable day before a trip to Nashville. And who doesn’t look forward to Nashville, even for work travel? I was in my normal routine when it hit me: profound sadness. At first I was confused. Was I anxious about something? Had I missed a meeting? Was I getting sick? Nope. Just sad. I tried to determine what had set this off. There were no clues and no obvious triggers. No song playing, no Facebook memory popping up and no big date to dwell on. Just sadness.
I guess the silver lining to managing my grief, whether tied to an important milestone and therefore anticipated or one of these bolts of blue lightning, is I am better at managing through. I won’t say that having coping tools makes me feel any better in the moment. But I do know I will feel better again even if I don’t know when that will be. And I know to take it easy on myself. To take a walk in the sunshine. Drink plenty of water (weird, but it helps). And put one foot in front of the other. And sure enough, the clouds did lift today.
In a strange way, I was grateful for today’s challenge. One of the blessings that can come from profound grief is a deepening of other relationships. I definitely felt more in touch with what my daughter meant by being moved more by unexpected moments. It’s a great parenting privilege to still be learning more about these children I treasure so much. And while I will forever regret and feel the deep pain that they don’t get their father’s presence and guidance through these important years of transition to adulthood I am equally cognizant of the privilege they have given me of the opportunity to try to fill some of that space. It is yet another gift Chuck has bestowed upon me. And so even on a blue day I realize how very lucky I am.
It is amazing how each of our children is such a unique individual! Enjoy Nashville and may the sun be lifting your spirits!❤️