Carried By Love

Today I'm reflecting on the messy and unpredictable grief journey.

Five months ago tomorrow was the worst moment of my life, when I got a text from my brother Paul that simply read, "Call me ASAP." Well, that can't be good, right? First of all, Paul never texts me. Second of all, it's mid-morning and he's probably farming. Third, ASAP means urgent.

So I ask my mentor teacher to cover my class 

because I suspect that there's an issue with our mom.

And even though he said that Mipps was unresponsive this morning, I heard him but did NOT understand what he was saying. Mipps was often unreachable through his work as a salesman and his sense of wanderlust and travel. Wasn't he in Maine with his new girlfriend? Perhaps they're out of cellphone range. Just leave a message, I was about to advise. He'll get back to you. He always does. What I wasn't ready for was what came next. "Maybe you didn't hear me. Mipps was unresponsive this morning." Like in the hospital? Because there's no way that the beautiful human in this kayak taken just a month earlier is gone at 53, right? If only .... 

And if you've been reading, you know what happened.

Heart attack during his sleep.

Went to bed and woke up in heaven.

Best night's sleep ever.

It's what he had prayed about since childhood:

Now I lay me down to sleep,

I pray the Lord my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake,

I pray the Lord my soul to take.

And this I ask for Jesus' sake. Amen.

His reality has left this reality for us in its wake:

Carried.

By a student who emails to ask if she can pray for me.

By a friend who flies in from Chicago to sit with me.

By a colleague who makes soup and brings it for dinner.

By a counselor who sent wind chimes for my back patio.

By a PenPal from childhood whose comfort card was spot on.

By a cousin who sent a book and a succulent.

By family who cry with me when I'm overwhelmed.

By people who've also lost a sibling and know this pain.

By my illustrator who asked how I prefer to be comforted.

And by others who've spent time trying to heal.

Carried. By love. And so much more.

A brace when I can't walk unaided.

Oxygen when I can't breathe.

Understanding when I cannot speak.

What a brutal five months it has been missing Mipps.

Sometimes I'm sure that I could drown in my tears.

And yet, rays of sunshine stubbornly peek through,

carried by love. Lots and lots of love.

Continued support of his Compassion International kids.

A Gift Ark of animals donated through Heifer International.

Mark was like an animal whisperer.

Seed money to a local high-school band student.

Scholarships sending two teens to the Nat'l Leadership Academy.

Aide for a mom who, at her own brother's death, is taking in her nephew.

Many teachers' projects funded on Donors Choose. 

And more. So much more. His love lives on.

So as I meet tomorrow's five-month milestone of riding the

grief roller coaster, I'm here to report that I'm managing more

good days than bad, more hope than despair. For the most part.

I'm learning to lean into the pain and lean on those people

who lovingly choose to sit with me while I emote through

all the feels, the highs and lows of losing not only my 

youngest sibling but also one of my very best friends.

I have definitely never been this sad. But I'm learning that sad isn't bad. It's just sad. And I'm sure it's growing me. It has to be, right? Accepting that it's okay to not be okay, giving me strength to help carry them when they can't walk, and preparing me for when this happens to someone else. 

A few gifts, from this thing called grief. 

And in the midst of my grief walk, two joyful opportunities ... 

click the images for a post and a podcast episode.

Happy February, dear reader.