I always look at life as teacher, and right now life is in the process of teaching me (and several people I am close to) some painful lessons. Yet, in the midst of all this pain, I know I am being prepared for something far greater than I could ever expect or imagine. At least, that's how I choose to look at it. I know there are people who are put off by my enduring optimism, but I've lived the other options, and optimism is frankly the only one that makes sense.
I was recently struck by a quote by Lao Lzu--
"New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings…"
This couldn't be more true. Whether you've lost your love, a family member, or a pregnancy, I believe this heartbreaking endings are the start of something new. This is not to say that I don't lose site of this idea often--heartbreak is an unruly emotion-- but I always find myself coming back to it.
One positive note, I am consistently able to see my resilient spirit through this pain. Sometimes life has to remind me of how far I've come, of the battles I've won, the pain I've conquered-- all of which is far greater than this-- and then say "See? It's all for the better." This is not to say that it didn't hurt, or that it doesn't hurt, or that it shouldn't hurt-- sadness is a natural emotion, even though it's unpleasant-- but that on the other side of that pain you find you learned something new, you conquered a battle, and you are ready for bigger and greater things.
The last quote I'll leave you with has also struck a chord with my heart during this tumultuous time:
"Attitude is the little thing that makes all the difference."
Saturday, March 9, 2013
Friday, February 8, 2013
5 Years Later….
I find myself sitting in Joplin nearly 5 years after my dad's death, but instead of going out to his grave, like I try to do each year, I've decided to keep my memory lighter. I've been looking for a way to get back into blogging this week, and nothing seemed more perfect than for me to write a letter to him about how my life has changed. Here goes nothing…
Dad,
I blinked, and it's been five years, at least, that's how it seems from this perspective. I know it's been a journey-- a hard journey. Sitting here trying to write this and trying to think of what to say, I feel like I can relieve every minute of it-- every heartbreak, triumph, breakthrough, and success. And yet, I struggle with what to say.
Your little girl grew up. She's no longer the scared and heartbroken teenager you said goodbye to in that hospital room 5 years ago. She's grown up into a strong, beautiful, confident woman. She's got a job, she lives in a city, she travels just like you always wanted her to. She smiles and laughs every day. She hopes that she brings the same joy to those in her life that you were able to bring her each day. She tries not to take things to seriously, just like you always said. She still curls up to read at night, even though she doesn't have your lap to sit in. She still sings and loves music and every day thinks of how she used to dance with you in the living room before getting on the bus for school. She tries not to cry as much when she misses you.
She still looks up to you. Even in your absence, your memory and your spirit teach her new things everyday. She learned not to harbor hatred and bitterness. She learned to always appreciate the ones you love, because you never know when they will be gone. She learned that being miserable is no way to live-- that you've got to make the best out of all situations life leaves at your door. She learned that you only have one life and that in the end, when you are lying in your hospital bed, you want to remember all the wonderful things you did and said--the wonderful ways you loved and were loved. Thank you for letting her learn from your mistakes.
She has a tattoo now… actually, she has three. The first for you. She hopes you can understand. She has long, blonde hair again--just like your vanilla haired baby should. She hopes you can see. Sometimes, she still picks up the phone to call you with good news. It breaks her heart every time. She misses you every day.
Your little girl has learned to love far beyond any capacity she could ever have dreamed. She's blessed to have the gift of vulnerability and of understanding. She hopes that others can learn from her pain and her triumph, just as she has from yours. She is strong. She still seeks to learn from others and their experiences. She is thirsty for knowledge. She hopes one day she can be as wise as you were.
I am blessed to have had you as a father for 19 years. Even though it wasn't perfect, and you weren't perfect, I always felt loved. I always felt important. I always felt beautiful. For that, I will always be eternally grateful. I hope you are proud.
-Your Little Girl
Dad,
I blinked, and it's been five years, at least, that's how it seems from this perspective. I know it's been a journey-- a hard journey. Sitting here trying to write this and trying to think of what to say, I feel like I can relieve every minute of it-- every heartbreak, triumph, breakthrough, and success. And yet, I struggle with what to say.
Your little girl grew up. She's no longer the scared and heartbroken teenager you said goodbye to in that hospital room 5 years ago. She's grown up into a strong, beautiful, confident woman. She's got a job, she lives in a city, she travels just like you always wanted her to. She smiles and laughs every day. She hopes that she brings the same joy to those in her life that you were able to bring her each day. She tries not to take things to seriously, just like you always said. She still curls up to read at night, even though she doesn't have your lap to sit in. She still sings and loves music and every day thinks of how she used to dance with you in the living room before getting on the bus for school. She tries not to cry as much when she misses you.
She still looks up to you. Even in your absence, your memory and your spirit teach her new things everyday. She learned not to harbor hatred and bitterness. She learned to always appreciate the ones you love, because you never know when they will be gone. She learned that being miserable is no way to live-- that you've got to make the best out of all situations life leaves at your door. She learned that you only have one life and that in the end, when you are lying in your hospital bed, you want to remember all the wonderful things you did and said--the wonderful ways you loved and were loved. Thank you for letting her learn from your mistakes.
She has a tattoo now… actually, she has three. The first for you. She hopes you can understand. She has long, blonde hair again--just like your vanilla haired baby should. She hopes you can see. Sometimes, she still picks up the phone to call you with good news. It breaks her heart every time. She misses you every day.
Your little girl has learned to love far beyond any capacity she could ever have dreamed. She's blessed to have the gift of vulnerability and of understanding. She hopes that others can learn from her pain and her triumph, just as she has from yours. She is strong. She still seeks to learn from others and their experiences. She is thirsty for knowledge. She hopes one day she can be as wise as you were.
I am blessed to have had you as a father for 19 years. Even though it wasn't perfect, and you weren't perfect, I always felt loved. I always felt important. I always felt beautiful. For that, I will always be eternally grateful. I hope you are proud.
-Your Little Girl
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