Just Five More Minutes

It has been said that death changes us.

And I've come to believe that that's true.

A piece of my heart left with my little brother, Mipps.

Oh sure, he lives on in so many ways, on the

Christmas display on his wine rack

that now lives in our daughter's home,

in the laughter that I hear as I think

that Mipps would find the humor in this,

in our hearts when we feel the Mipps tug,

to be extra generous by helping someone!

It changed my life in myriad ways to lose

that special present that lived in my baby brother.

The mom in me, who helped raise him.

The sister who was always looking out for him.

The friend who called him almost every day,

looking for advice or needing a pick-me-up,

we were thrust into a new normal with the call

that Mark was unresponsive that morning.

What I wouldn't give for just five more minutes with him.

The same can be said for the three moms that I lost.

John's mom last August, my mom three weeks later,

then most recently, Flo, my Dad's love of 40 years.

Different grief paths, different feelings of longing,

different levels of missing, but all life-altering,

because 3 more pieces of my heart have gone missing.

Want to know what's important to someone? Just look in their jewelry box.

 I got to know Flo a bit better as I crafted this jewelry tree from her precious pins; it is now on its way to Wayside, WI, to surprise my Dad for his 88th birthday in April, and I can't wait to open it with him. 

It feels a little sad to me, that I didn't know some of the things I've learned since her passing, but Flo was pretty private and didn't share much about herself or her other life, her early years, before Bob. 

Who was your first husband, the boys' father? 

How did you meet? 

What drew you to him?

How long were you married? 

How did you cope with losing him so suddenly?

What would you do with five more minutes with him?

Goodbyes are a gut-punch, but losing someone

can also be a gift, a wake-up call, a reminder

that who we are makes a difference,

and how we treat each other matters!

Each and every moment of

each and every day.

My heart aches again every time I hear that someone has died as I feel the pain that the family and friends are going through. 

The shock. The disbelief. The languishing. The missing.

Oh, the missing has gotten the best of me a time or two.

It's messy.

And tempting to armor up.

To hide my heart,

to lock it up,

to never let it

love that deeply

again. 

So it never

has to hurt

that profoundly.

Ever. Again.

Amen.

Because that feeling of abandonment is real.

And the pain is razor-sharp.

But friends, I'm feeling called to remind us that

it's stinkin' thinkin' to let that loss

keep us from loving again.

What if Flo had never given

love another chance when

her first husband died?

Life-changing? Absolutely.

Painful. No question.

But reason enough to throw in the towel

and guard your heart so judiciously that

you never have to hurt like this again?

Never.

Because the fog always lifts.

And, silly as it sounds, the sun?

It always shines again.

So what helps us through this major life change?

For me, it was leaning into the pain

and leaning on my faith, my family, my friends.

It was finding a safe space

and crying it out.

It was pampering myself with

life's simple pleasures like

a nap, a walk, a flavored coffee.

It's being there with myself,

being gentle and

showing compassion,

without judgement.

Did I ever feel alone on the path?

Yep. Very alone and lonely.

But was I ever alone?

Nope.

Because someone who loves and cares about me

is always just a click or a prayer away.

And ultimately, it was the gift of time

that helped heal my hurting heart.

Surprisingly enough, my broken heart now holds

even more humility, mercy, and grace,

even more empathy, compassion,

kindness, hope, joy, acceptance,

gratitude and love

than ever before.

Happy springtime, dear reader.