When you have a baby, the first year is filled with all kinds of firsts. The first look. The first smile. The first coo. The first giggle. The first full night of sleep (or even a solid 4 hours!).The first roll over. The first crawl. The first wave. The first word. The first step. So many firsts that all bring smiles and laughter and joy. Pure excitement.
Then there is another year of firsts. Some of them are the same for everyone. Some of them are different. They don't generally bring smiles and laughter and joy. At least they didn't for me.
It's the first year after someone passes away.
The "first" was St. Patrick's Day. My momma was 100% Irish. How she loved St. Patrick's Day. One of my sisters usually has a St. Patrick's Day party where we laugh and talk and eat and sing - or at least try to sing. We wear green and drink and talk and laugh and eat some more. But, she wasn't there.
Then my husband and I celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary. Every year, I would talk to my mom on my wedding anniversary and she would reminisce with me. She'd talk about how happy she was the day I got married - the ceremony, the music, the dancing, the people. She was so happy for Jerry and me not only on that day, but for the days and years after, too. I know that she would have been so excited to talk to me on such a special milestone in our lives. But, she wasn't there.
Easter. On Good Friday I sat in church remembering Good Friday of 2016. We venerated the cross and I went back to my pew to pray. I could see Mom talking to my dad and he went up to the girl holding the crucifix and spoke to her. The girl walked over to my mom. My mom stood and so lovingly touched Jesus' feet and kissed them. But not 2017. She wasn't there.
My daughter's birthday. My dad's birthday. Mother's Day. Oh, Mother's Day. At Mass, my youngest sang solos during the song before Mass, the responsorial psalm, and the communion hymn. A couple of the girls sang "Blessings" before Mass began. How fitting that during M's solo she sang, "When friends betray us, when darkness seems to win, we know that pain reminds this heart that this is not, this is not our home. It's not our home." My mom always loved to hear the kids sing at Mass. But, she wasn't there.
Sibling's birthdays, my 50th birthday, my son's birthday, her birthday. My mom was all about the birthday celebrations and cards and making people feel special. But, she wasn't there.
Thanksgiving. Christmas. Her apple pie. Her decorations. Her laughter. Her love of family. The joy she would have watching us open our gifts. Oh, how she made the holiday season feel extra special and festive. But, she wasn't there.
Surprisingly to me, New Year's Eve was one of the toughest firsts that year. At midnight, we kissed and hugged and rang in the New Year and it struck me. It struck me that 2018 would be the first year that didn't know my mom, that didn't feel her touch, that didn't hear her laughter or her voice. 2017 slipped away and 2018 came bursting forth. But, she wasn't there.
As it came closer to the year anniversary of her passing, I found myself looking back. What was I doing last year on this day? What was I doing when I didn't know I was experiencing all of my "lasts" with her? Reliving those last days. Reliving the moments.
On the anniversary of her passing I went to Mass with my dad and my two eldest kiddos. We prayed. The day went on. My eldest and I went to clean at my dad's. One year to the day, we had cleaned as well. I thought of that as I cleaned this day. But, she wasn't there.
As the day progressed, I tried to take stock of how I was feeling. When I thought about it, I realized I felt like I had finally exhaled. It was as if I had been holding my breath for a year, even though I didn't feel like I had, and I slowly let it out. A weight had been lifted from my chest. I could get a full breath in.
Someone asked me if it was easier now that the first year was behind me. It's just different. My grief isn't over. It is something that I know will always be with me. Sometimes it will wash over me and sometimes it will just be resting deep within my soul. But, it will always be with me.
First years can be filled with much joy or much sorrow. First years can be filled with memories in the making or memories of times gone by. Sometimes, the first years can be a mixture of both sides of that swinging pendulum. Whichever way, first years should be embraced. First years are a blessing. They mark special moments of the people whom we love. And that, my friends, is always a good thing to live through and remember.
"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven"
Ecclesiastes 3:1
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mom. Show all posts
Saturday, March 24, 2018
Tuesday, February 6, 2018
I Can't Hear You Anymore
It was a morning like any other morning. I was up, dressed, and getting the water started for my morning tea. My mom had been on my mind, so I started talking to her. Unlike other times I've chatted with my mom, I was overwhelmed with emotion and broke down. "I know you can hear me, Momma, but I can't hear you anymore. I miss talking to you. Really talking to you. You feel so far away."
I finished making my cup of tea and headed over to my morning prayer spot. I tucked my sad body into the chair and Gordie snuggled in with me. Although I felt distracted, I settled in and did my morning prayers as I sipped my cup of tea.
When I finished my prayers and tea I got up and started getting myself ready for the day. I had about 10 minutes before I needed to get M. to school. What should I do with 10 minutes? I was going to start on some chores and then I thought of the file folder. Hmm. I could go through some of the file folder.
The last time I was cleaning at my dad's he mentioned that he had been going through some of my mom's things. He found a file folder for each of the kids with some of the cards we had sent them through the years. "No one will want old cards," my dad said. "I think I'll just recycle them." I suggested that he give the file folders to each of the kids and let them do what they wanted with them. I figured I'd get a kick out of looking over the cards and then I'd probably recycle them myself.
I opened the file folder and looked at the first couple of cards. They made me wonder how my mom chose which cards to keep. These obviously weren't all the cards I'd given through the years. Maybe this one made her laugh. Maybe that one touched her heart. I was enjoying this journey. Then I opened the third card and I stopped short.
There was my mom's handwriting.
She had written back to my family and me in most of the cards she saved. On a day I was feeling so very far away from my mom, missing her voice, aching to be able to hear her -- on THAT very day God gave me a little push to open the file folder. And there she was, waiting patiently. Suddenly I could hear her. She was talking to me. Really talking to me. And I could feel her right with me.
Needless to say, these cards aren't going to find themselves in the recycling bin anytime soon. I don't know what made my mom think to write us notes in cards we sent her. Maybe part of her knew that someday we would be missing her and needing to hear her speaking to us once again.
What began as a morning like any other morning ended as a morning unlike any other morning. I was reminded how God cares for what is on our hearts - the big things and the little things. I was reminded how my mom always hears me and that she will always find a way for me to hear her, too. I was reminded that a simple note can be just what an aching soul needs.
In my distress I called out: Lord!
I cried out to my God.
From his temple he heard my voice;
my cry to him reached his ears.
Psalm 18:7
I finished making my cup of tea and headed over to my morning prayer spot. I tucked my sad body into the chair and Gordie snuggled in with me. Although I felt distracted, I settled in and did my morning prayers as I sipped my cup of tea.
When I finished my prayers and tea I got up and started getting myself ready for the day. I had about 10 minutes before I needed to get M. to school. What should I do with 10 minutes? I was going to start on some chores and then I thought of the file folder. Hmm. I could go through some of the file folder.
The last time I was cleaning at my dad's he mentioned that he had been going through some of my mom's things. He found a file folder for each of the kids with some of the cards we had sent them through the years. "No one will want old cards," my dad said. "I think I'll just recycle them." I suggested that he give the file folders to each of the kids and let them do what they wanted with them. I figured I'd get a kick out of looking over the cards and then I'd probably recycle them myself.
I opened the file folder and looked at the first couple of cards. They made me wonder how my mom chose which cards to keep. These obviously weren't all the cards I'd given through the years. Maybe this one made her laugh. Maybe that one touched her heart. I was enjoying this journey. Then I opened the third card and I stopped short.
There was my mom's handwriting.
She had written back to my family and me in most of the cards she saved. On a day I was feeling so very far away from my mom, missing her voice, aching to be able to hear her -- on THAT very day God gave me a little push to open the file folder. And there she was, waiting patiently. Suddenly I could hear her. She was talking to me. Really talking to me. And I could feel her right with me.
Needless to say, these cards aren't going to find themselves in the recycling bin anytime soon. I don't know what made my mom think to write us notes in cards we sent her. Maybe part of her knew that someday we would be missing her and needing to hear her speaking to us once again.
What began as a morning like any other morning ended as a morning unlike any other morning. I was reminded how God cares for what is on our hearts - the big things and the little things. I was reminded how my mom always hears me and that she will always find a way for me to hear her, too. I was reminded that a simple note can be just what an aching soul needs.
In my distress I called out: Lord!
I cried out to my God.
From his temple he heard my voice;
my cry to him reached his ears.
Psalm 18:7
Thursday, March 23, 2017
March 8th, 2017
Wednesday, March 8, 2017. Most of my siblings and some of my nieces and nephews were at my folk's house. We were waiting for my mom to die.
Although my mom had been dealing with many health issues for over 5 years, she took an extremely quick downturn after being home just a short time from her last trip to a rehabilitation facility. She had been doing so well at the facility that I was excited when she came home. "She'll be more confident getting around with her walker," I thought. "She'll be able to get out and about a little more now." I was wrong.
I went to see her Sunday the 5th. She was having trouble speaking. "Dorothy. Where's my Dorothy?' she asked and smiled when I said, "Here I am" and leaned over to kiss her. Before I left that evening I told her that I loved her and we kissed again after she told me she loved me, too. Those were the last words I heard her speak to me.
Monday the 6th my dad called to say my mom wasn't doing well. I drove over. She was lethargic. Not moving. Not really communicating. I stretched out on the bed next to her. I held her hand. I read her the prayers she always loved me to read to her when she was in the hospital. When I went in the hallway I asked my dad if we could call our priest to perform the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. In the afternoon, Fr. Mark came and prayed over her and anointed her and led all who were there in a Litany of the Saints.
Shortly after that, her physical therapist came and, after she saw my mom, she spoke to me in the hallway. Well, first she cried. "I'm sorry. I've treated your mom for so long. I really love her." The therapist called the nurse. It was determined that her doctor should be called and hospice brought in. My mom's visiting nurse spoke to me on the phone. "This may be an odd request. Please give your mom a hug and a kiss for me. I love her." It didn't sound like an odd request to me. I knew how my mom impacted people she met.
Hospice came the morning of the 7th. We spent the day reeling from the news that she had hours to very few days to live. We held her hand. We prayed. We cried. We talked to her. We reminisced.
Wednesday the 8th was a continuation of our vigil. Sometimes a bunch of us would be around her and sometimes only one of us. I put the Chaplet of Divine Mercy on for her, because she would pray that at least once a day. At one point I asked my dad if he wanted some time alone with her. "No. I woke up at 1 last night and I talked to her until 5. We had our alone time together." One of my sisters was scrubbing the kitchen. I cleaned the bathrooms and washed the floors. My mom always was such a great cleaner and she used white vinegar and water when she cleaned the floors. When I finished, I went and took her hand. "The house is all clean. I bet you can smell the vinegar. I cleaned the floors just how you like them."
Later in the afternoon, I was talking to one of my sisters in the kitchen and we heard great belly laughs coming from the bedroom. We just HAD to find out what that was all about. We headed to the bedroom to find mom surrounded by most of my siblings and some of my nieces and nephews. They were trying to figure out why it was so funny when you saw videos of people falling and were just laughing and laughing. My mom loved music and the Alan Jackson song, "Remember When" was playing. I had used that song in my parent's 50th wedding anniversary video 12 years prior. Her breathing became more labored, but she was peaceful. Many of us were crying as her breaths slowed down, we were touching her, and I suddenly felt incredible heat spill over us. As the song was coming to a close, she stopped breathing. My nephew looked up and said, "Should I go and get Gramps?'
As my dad was coming into the room, she began to breathe again. Shallow, labored, slow breaths. My dad went up and put his hands on her face. "“It’s okay, Lovie. It’s okay to let go. Your mom is waiting for you, and your brothers. Dot is there, and Kay. They’re all waiting. It’s okay, Lovie, to let go." Someone suggested we pray. Our Father. Hail Mary. Glory Be. Our Father. Hail Mary. Glory Be. Our Father. Hail Mary. Glory Be.
I asked my sister to put on "You'll Never Walk Alone." That was my parent's wedding song. We cried. We held her. We held each other. My dad remained near her face - touching her - looking at her. Again, I felt heat pour over us. Then my mom was gone.
When my mom was in the hospital, my sisters and I would take turns spending the night with her. She told some of us how when she saw my dad's face she would feel safe. That was all she needed. Just to see his face and she knew everything was okay - she was safe. How fitting, then, that this is the man who was by her side, looking in her face, as she left this world and entered eternal life.
I've been numb since her passing. However, the reality is slowly beginning to sink in and the truth that she is no longer physically here crushes my heart. But there is hope. We have hope in the Lord. She taught me to trust in the Lord and right now I cling to what she taught me.
Wednesday, March 8, 2017. A great woman passed from this earth, but her impact is like that of a pebble that is tossed into the water. The ripples go far beyond what she could have ever imagined. I just pray that in my lifetime I can touch people even just a fraction of the way my momma did. That is a life worth living, indeed.
Memorial Video for My Momma
"But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God,
and no torment will ever touch them.
2 In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died,
and their departure was thought to be a disaster,
3 and their going from us to be their destruction;
but they are at peace.
4 For though in the sight of others they were punished,
their hope is full of immortality.
5 Having been disciplined a little, they will receive great good,
because God tested them and found them worthy of himself;
6 like gold in the furnace he tried them,
and like a sacrificial burnt offering he accepted them.
7 In the time of their visitation they will shine forth,
and will run like sparks through the stubble.
8 They will govern nations and rule over peoples,
and the Lord will reign over them forever.
9 Those who trust in him will understand truth,
and the faithful will abide with him in love,
because grace and mercy are upon his holy ones,
and he watches over his elect."
Although my mom had been dealing with many health issues for over 5 years, she took an extremely quick downturn after being home just a short time from her last trip to a rehabilitation facility. She had been doing so well at the facility that I was excited when she came home. "She'll be more confident getting around with her walker," I thought. "She'll be able to get out and about a little more now." I was wrong.
I went to see her Sunday the 5th. She was having trouble speaking. "Dorothy. Where's my Dorothy?' she asked and smiled when I said, "Here I am" and leaned over to kiss her. Before I left that evening I told her that I loved her and we kissed again after she told me she loved me, too. Those were the last words I heard her speak to me.
Monday the 6th my dad called to say my mom wasn't doing well. I drove over. She was lethargic. Not moving. Not really communicating. I stretched out on the bed next to her. I held her hand. I read her the prayers she always loved me to read to her when she was in the hospital. When I went in the hallway I asked my dad if we could call our priest to perform the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. In the afternoon, Fr. Mark came and prayed over her and anointed her and led all who were there in a Litany of the Saints.
Shortly after that, her physical therapist came and, after she saw my mom, she spoke to me in the hallway. Well, first she cried. "I'm sorry. I've treated your mom for so long. I really love her." The therapist called the nurse. It was determined that her doctor should be called and hospice brought in. My mom's visiting nurse spoke to me on the phone. "This may be an odd request. Please give your mom a hug and a kiss for me. I love her." It didn't sound like an odd request to me. I knew how my mom impacted people she met.
Hospice came the morning of the 7th. We spent the day reeling from the news that she had hours to very few days to live. We held her hand. We prayed. We cried. We talked to her. We reminisced.
Wednesday the 8th was a continuation of our vigil. Sometimes a bunch of us would be around her and sometimes only one of us. I put the Chaplet of Divine Mercy on for her, because she would pray that at least once a day. At one point I asked my dad if he wanted some time alone with her. "No. I woke up at 1 last night and I talked to her until 5. We had our alone time together." One of my sisters was scrubbing the kitchen. I cleaned the bathrooms and washed the floors. My mom always was such a great cleaner and she used white vinegar and water when she cleaned the floors. When I finished, I went and took her hand. "The house is all clean. I bet you can smell the vinegar. I cleaned the floors just how you like them."
Later in the afternoon, I was talking to one of my sisters in the kitchen and we heard great belly laughs coming from the bedroom. We just HAD to find out what that was all about. We headed to the bedroom to find mom surrounded by most of my siblings and some of my nieces and nephews. They were trying to figure out why it was so funny when you saw videos of people falling and were just laughing and laughing. My mom loved music and the Alan Jackson song, "Remember When" was playing. I had used that song in my parent's 50th wedding anniversary video 12 years prior. Her breathing became more labored, but she was peaceful. Many of us were crying as her breaths slowed down, we were touching her, and I suddenly felt incredible heat spill over us. As the song was coming to a close, she stopped breathing. My nephew looked up and said, "Should I go and get Gramps?'
As my dad was coming into the room, she began to breathe again. Shallow, labored, slow breaths. My dad went up and put his hands on her face. "“It’s okay, Lovie. It’s okay to let go. Your mom is waiting for you, and your brothers. Dot is there, and Kay. They’re all waiting. It’s okay, Lovie, to let go." Someone suggested we pray. Our Father. Hail Mary. Glory Be. Our Father. Hail Mary. Glory Be. Our Father. Hail Mary. Glory Be.
I asked my sister to put on "You'll Never Walk Alone." That was my parent's wedding song. We cried. We held her. We held each other. My dad remained near her face - touching her - looking at her. Again, I felt heat pour over us. Then my mom was gone.
When my mom was in the hospital, my sisters and I would take turns spending the night with her. She told some of us how when she saw my dad's face she would feel safe. That was all she needed. Just to see his face and she knew everything was okay - she was safe. How fitting, then, that this is the man who was by her side, looking in her face, as she left this world and entered eternal life.
I've been numb since her passing. However, the reality is slowly beginning to sink in and the truth that she is no longer physically here crushes my heart. But there is hope. We have hope in the Lord. She taught me to trust in the Lord and right now I cling to what she taught me.
Wednesday, March 8, 2017. A great woman passed from this earth, but her impact is like that of a pebble that is tossed into the water. The ripples go far beyond what she could have ever imagined. I just pray that in my lifetime I can touch people even just a fraction of the way my momma did. That is a life worth living, indeed.
Memorial Video for My Momma
"But the souls of the righteous are in the hand of God,
and no torment will ever touch them.
2 In the eyes of the foolish they seemed to have died,
and their departure was thought to be a disaster,
3 and their going from us to be their destruction;
but they are at peace.
4 For though in the sight of others they were punished,
their hope is full of immortality.
5 Having been disciplined a little, they will receive great good,
because God tested them and found them worthy of himself;
6 like gold in the furnace he tried them,
and like a sacrificial burnt offering he accepted them.
7 In the time of their visitation they will shine forth,
and will run like sparks through the stubble.
8 They will govern nations and rule over peoples,
and the Lord will reign over them forever.
9 Those who trust in him will understand truth,
and the faithful will abide with him in love,
because grace and mercy are upon his holy ones,
and he watches over his elect."
Wisdom 3:1-9
Friday, May 17, 2013
Stroke Lessons
Patience. Tolerance. Understanding. Empathy. Compassion. I have never quite felt the need for these qualities more than I have needed them throughout these last four weeks.
Before the sun was up one morning my telephone rang and my dad was on the other end of the line. "Can you come over?" he asked. There was something in his voice that I'm not used to hearing. Fear. A bit of fear had crept into my father's voice. "I'm on my way."
My mother suffered a minor stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. My mom suffered a minor stroke. I remember when the doctor said "stroke" my father and I just looked at each other. "She had a stroke?" Yes. That word is still sinking in four weeks later.
Emotions. Exhaustion. Confusion. Worry. I have never quite felt the draining power of these qualities more than I have throughout these last four weeks.
We have a large, complicated, beautiful family. My mom carried six children and then, when her sister passed away and her brother-in-law followed a year and a half later, my folks took in two of their eight children. So, what we have is my dad dealing with this change in his wife of 58 years and eight children with thoughts and ideas and feelings coursing through their minds. How do we deal with this? How do we deal with each other?
My mom loves. She loves her husband. She loves her children. She loves her friends. She loves the staff who helped her at the hospital. She would learn a person's name even if they were doing just one test on her. She hugged her therapists. She exchanged addresses with her roommate. The therapists told her that they wanted her to come back and walk down the hall to see them all when she gets stronger. She loves.
All you need to do in a circumstance like this is to remember that when a woman loves the way my mom loves it is only natural that people will love her back. And when a woman you love suffers a stroke it shakes you -- maybe a little, maybe a lot -- but, it shakes you. When you are shaken it is so important to have patience, tolerance, understanding, empathy, and compassion.
That was what I needed to do while my mom was in the hospital. When something would happen I would try to remember this. When someone would suggest something or ask something or do something, I reminded myself that it came from love. That helped me to respond in a kind and loving way, I hope.
I tend to be a little quieter and slower in my reactions. I wasn't always like this, but over the years I've come to realize that if I have the ability to let something soak into me a bit before I respond that the outcome is generally more positive. Everyone's emotions were raw. Everyone was exhuasted. Everyone was confused. Everyone was worried. And that is precisely why I needed patience, tolerance, understanding, empathy, and compassion.
I don't know how many times I heard someone say, "Don't they know better?" or "They should have known..." Why? Why do we expect people to know certain things? Why do we assume that people know the "right" thing to do or the "right" thing to say? Not everyone does know better. Because of this, it is so important to try to talk to people with kindness and love. Give them the benefit of the doubt and trust that they are coming from a good place of wanting to help and wanting to make things better.
People have different ideas about how to handle situations. Sometimes a different idea is just that. Different. Sometimes there is a right way and a wrong way. Sometimes there is a better way and a not-so-great way. Sometimes there is just a different way. Stop. Listen to each other. Does something have to be done "your" way? Let's talk about it. Let's hear each other. Let's remember that we are all coming from a place of love and concern. Be open.
We all want the best for my mom and we are all going through so many emotions. Because people react differently to stress it is so very important to remember that everyone is hurting and coming from a place of great love for this woman.
When you give someone the benefit of the doubt it is very freeing. Why do I do and say the things I say during this difficult time? Because I love my mom. Why do I think others do and say the things they do and say? Out of love for my mom. So, if that is the case, we should approach each other knowing that we all want the best for her, want to do the best, want to say the best things. We may not agree with everything, but when you know someone is coming from a place of love doesn't that change the way you interact with them?
These four weeks have been challenging for so many reasons. Yet these four weeks have brought many blessings as well. One of these blessings has been bringing into focus the importance of how we interact with people, whether it is just for a moment, a day, or a lifetime. This part of my journey, the journey of my mom's recovery, is just beginning. We still have a long way to go. I hope it is a time of drawing our family together and strengthening our bonds.
I have never felt the power of these qualities more than I have these last four weeks and so I tell myself: Be patient. Be tolerant. Be understanding. Be empathetic. Be compassionate.
"Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassion, kindness, lowliness, meekness, and patience, forbearing one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And over all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony." Colossians 3:12-13
Before the sun was up one morning my telephone rang and my dad was on the other end of the line. "Can you come over?" he asked. There was something in his voice that I'm not used to hearing. Fear. A bit of fear had crept into my father's voice. "I'm on my way."
My mother suffered a minor stroke. Stroke. Stroke. Stroke. My mom suffered a minor stroke. I remember when the doctor said "stroke" my father and I just looked at each other. "She had a stroke?" Yes. That word is still sinking in four weeks later.
Emotions. Exhaustion. Confusion. Worry. I have never quite felt the draining power of these qualities more than I have throughout these last four weeks.
We have a large, complicated, beautiful family. My mom carried six children and then, when her sister passed away and her brother-in-law followed a year and a half later, my folks took in two of their eight children. So, what we have is my dad dealing with this change in his wife of 58 years and eight children with thoughts and ideas and feelings coursing through their minds. How do we deal with this? How do we deal with each other?
My mom loves. She loves her husband. She loves her children. She loves her friends. She loves the staff who helped her at the hospital. She would learn a person's name even if they were doing just one test on her. She hugged her therapists. She exchanged addresses with her roommate. The therapists told her that they wanted her to come back and walk down the hall to see them all when she gets stronger. She loves.
All you need to do in a circumstance like this is to remember that when a woman loves the way my mom loves it is only natural that people will love her back. And when a woman you love suffers a stroke it shakes you -- maybe a little, maybe a lot -- but, it shakes you. When you are shaken it is so important to have patience, tolerance, understanding, empathy, and compassion.
That was what I needed to do while my mom was in the hospital. When something would happen I would try to remember this. When someone would suggest something or ask something or do something, I reminded myself that it came from love. That helped me to respond in a kind and loving way, I hope.
I tend to be a little quieter and slower in my reactions. I wasn't always like this, but over the years I've come to realize that if I have the ability to let something soak into me a bit before I respond that the outcome is generally more positive. Everyone's emotions were raw. Everyone was exhuasted. Everyone was confused. Everyone was worried. And that is precisely why I needed patience, tolerance, understanding, empathy, and compassion.
I don't know how many times I heard someone say, "Don't they know better?" or "They should have known..." Why? Why do we expect people to know certain things? Why do we assume that people know the "right" thing to do or the "right" thing to say? Not everyone does know better. Because of this, it is so important to try to talk to people with kindness and love. Give them the benefit of the doubt and trust that they are coming from a good place of wanting to help and wanting to make things better.
People have different ideas about how to handle situations. Sometimes a different idea is just that. Different. Sometimes there is a right way and a wrong way. Sometimes there is a better way and a not-so-great way. Sometimes there is just a different way. Stop. Listen to each other. Does something have to be done "your" way? Let's talk about it. Let's hear each other. Let's remember that we are all coming from a place of love and concern. Be open.
We all want the best for my mom and we are all going through so many emotions. Because people react differently to stress it is so very important to remember that everyone is hurting and coming from a place of great love for this woman.
When you give someone the benefit of the doubt it is very freeing. Why do I do and say the things I say during this difficult time? Because I love my mom. Why do I think others do and say the things they do and say? Out of love for my mom. So, if that is the case, we should approach each other knowing that we all want the best for her, want to do the best, want to say the best things. We may not agree with everything, but when you know someone is coming from a place of love doesn't that change the way you interact with them?
These four weeks have been challenging for so many reasons. Yet these four weeks have brought many blessings as well. One of these blessings has been bringing into focus the importance of how we interact with people, whether it is just for a moment, a day, or a lifetime. This part of my journey, the journey of my mom's recovery, is just beginning. We still have a long way to go. I hope it is a time of drawing our family together and strengthening our bonds.
I have never felt the power of these qualities more than I have these last four weeks and so I tell myself: Be patient. Be tolerant. Be understanding. Be empathetic. Be compassionate.
"Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassion, kindness, lowliness, meekness, and patience, forbearing one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive. And over all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony." Colossians 3:12-13
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