Saturday, February 5, 2011


For the last week, I've wanted to write. To try and make sense of the sadness I'm feeling.  The sadness and struggle and pain that so many around me are feeling.  But I didn't know what to write.  I still don't....  

Last Monday, my Uncle went to the doctor, and then went to the hospital, and then received very bad news.  We still don't know what is next, but thankfully he is home now, surrounded by family and lots of love.

Later in the week, one of my dearest friends shared her husband's health crisis.  Her family has a long and difficult road ahead of them.

This Monday, while I was grocery shopping, I returned a call to my mom.  She told me that earlier in the day, one of their oldest and dearest friends had died suddenly.

All in a week.


Knowing the pain that my family and friends are going through makes me so very sad.  My heart breaks for them.  I'm so powerless.  Not a darn thing I can do.  Other than offer love and support.  An ear to listen.  A meal to share.  A shoulder.  A laugh.  

Grief is grief.  It is pretty much the same for everyone.  And plain and simple, it just sucks.  

These past days, I've looked at my kids and tears well up in my eyes.  Tears of joy and sadness and overwhelming love.  These past days made me feel so vulnerable.  Of course, we are all vulnerable.  We only have this moment.  Nothing new.  But sometimes it's easy to get caught up in all the daily to-do's and forget what is really in front of us.  

A week like this made all those "other things" seem so insignificant.  

I just want to hold my kids.  Play games.  Watch them sleep.  Make sure they know - - really know how much I love them exactly as they are.  Perfect.  Make sure they know that I am always with them.  That I always love them.  

I just want to be with my husband.  Sit next to him at dinner and hold his hand. Tell him how much joy and love he gives me. How grateful I am to have him in my life, even on the hard days. How much I owe him. 

I just want to enjoy and celebrate my family. My friends.  Make sure they know how much they have taught me.  How I value everything they bring to my life.  

This sort of sadness is a re-ordering.  A wake-up call.  Another reminder to be alive. 

Tonight before bed, Henry asked if instead of reading books like usual, we could have a tickle fight (as he calls it).  Of course, I knew this was probably not the best choice at bedtime, but I said yes.  Yes because it is what he wanted (and sometimes Henry gets to choose, simple as that). And yes because I wanted to hear everyone laugh....  

So the four of us tickled and giggled and rolled around for 15 minutes.   And when we finally caught our breath and it was time to fall asleep, Henry asked if I could sing them the lullaby that I used to sing when they were younger.  I  bet I haven't sang it for a year, but tonight I sang my dear ones to sleep.  

Tonight. All of it.  It's just what I needed.

I wish everyone's sadness could be fixed with a good belly laugh and a lullaby.  But, I know its not that easy.  And I know what I'm feeling doesn't come close to the pain and sorrow that so many others around me are feeling right now. But I will send them all of my love.  And I will honor them by being present for all those who are closest to me. 


  1. I'm so sorry for the grieving that is surrounding you at the moment. We lost a friend very suddenly at 43 this summer and we struggle from week to week to help his wife and three young children who have been left behind. It's heartbreaking. It's the pictures that help us. The pictures of him laughing his hysterical laugh. I also see you have a new endeavor with photo sessions starting up. I wish you the best of luck. That is certainly something to look forward to.

  2. I'm so sorry, Debra. :( Sending you a virtual hug.

    Gorgeous photo.

    Becky Sue

  3. Oh dear what a horrible week you have had, such a sad post and I love that you ended today on a happy note, I hope things don't seem so sad this week. I love your shot, it says so much about how you are feeling.