Each day, the sun rises and sets. The seasons change.
In the garden, flowers bloom and then die.
Death is like the tide – it just is.
Every time I hear of a death, I immediately think, “there is another mother who lost her child.”
I’m not sure how we survive the death of a child, but we do. We find a way to live – not just to survive. But we are changed forever.
When bad days happen, I struggle to stay present but I am sucked backwards in time. With a foot in the past and one in the present, I try to carry on through the day. And, when I am tempted to – again – ask WHY? – I think about this quote by Margaret Brownley,
“perfume can only be produced by crushing flowers; something beautiful must first die…”
I know my face reflects my rawness and I really don’t care. A part of me is gone; I feel diminished, a shadow of my former self.
I am, somehow, less than I was.
And yet I am softer: I feel other’s energy and acutely sense their pain. I am infinitely stronger; I can now survive anything. My discernment is magnified, and I’m crystal clear about what really matters.
Does that mean that, in some way, I am more than I was before my son died?
Rarely is something created without pain and perseverance. I wonder if our new self (our new normal) forms in the same way as a pearl is created? Do you think our hardship refines us?