An Emotional Awakening

Today I'm feeling grateful even as the grief continues.

While Friday marked the 7-month point of missing Mipps, it also found his work family gathering in this social space dedicated to a social soul, my brother Mark. So many thoughtful touches, including Florida Gators colors and Twizzlers licorice, his favorites. I'm told there is still a food table, a PacMac machine, and a few pictures on order; my guess is that the lounge will continue to morph as they make it their own.

Isn't that the most beautiful way to remember their lost family member?

Oh, and there's that word again ... lost.

It's a word that pretty accurately describes how I've felt

since August 25th when I got the horrible news.

Lost. And alone. So very alone.

And yet ... what I've also discovered is that I am 

as emotionally alive as I've ever been.

In my sixty years on this earth.

It's really hard to explain, because how can I be lost and yet somehow these elusive emotions have all found me? Every time I turn around, almost with every breath really, a new feeling to tackle, to try on, to hold close until I no longer need it.

Well, I'm still working on that one.

No answers yet, just questions.

How is all of this even possible?

And as I ponder, I've been filled at once

with awe and anger,

with gratitude and grief,

with sadness and joy.

And I find it all oddly SADisfying.

Yep, I just made up that word.

Because it's all happening as it was meant to.

Missing Mark is the most painfully-difficult thing

I've ever had to endure. And some days,

I'm not sure that I can. Endure it, that is.

But that's not one of our choices.

Our choices are keeping moving ... or don't.

And since I believe that Mipps was made for heaven,

my faith carries me through the pain

and propels me forward with purpose.

The only way around it is through it.

And through it means pain.

And maybe some anger.

And for sure lots of gratitude.

And even some joy.

I finally looked like myself again,

in the mirror on Friday.

The fog seems to be lifting,

ever so slightly. And the sun

is starting to shine again.

It doesn't mean that I'm done crying,

not by a long shot. 

I cried in church this morning.

Three times.

But the crying is just a reminder

of how special that baby brother was.

And how deeply we connected and

how deep the longing is,

 to one day see him again.

To hug him.

To talk to him.

To laugh with him.

To thank him.

So as I sign off to go to the pool 

for some more reflection time,

I leave you with this musical reminder

to let your loved one know

what they mean to you.

Each and every day.

Turn up your speakers and grab your tissues.

Because none of us has forever.

**********

On another note, check out my author blog {here} for a

freebie download of this project idea as well as

a video clip of the school that inspired it.