HOPE IN HEARTACHE


  Friday, 5.21.21


“Your heartache is someone else’s hope. If you make it through, somebody else is going to make it through. Tell your story.”
— Kim McManus

Usually my writing directly reflects what I have been feeling, however I realized that I haven't written about my father in a little while & the truth is, he has actually been heavy on my mind. However, sometimes grief needs to be processed in a very silent, meditative way.

The other day, when I was visiting his grave I said what I say often, "I wish you could see the kids now, Tata... hopefully you do."

But then out of no where, I followed it up with, "Actually... I really wish that THEY could see YOU now, and continue to learn from you, have your laughter permeate their souls, smell your smell, feel your thick hands gently touch their cheeks, watch your wisdom without you even saying a word -- I wish they could see YOU, just as I was so lucky to as a child."

But, they can't. And yet, in a way, they can. They see you on all the pictures all over our walls. They hear about you because you are always top of mind in SOOOO many of our conversations. They feel my hands caress their cheeks with you in my heart. They learn from you through all the lessons you taught (& continue to teach) me.

It is most definitely NOT the same, no.

BUT, these were the cards we were dealt and Lord knows -- I am going to play them as well as I can, just like you would want me to.

Grief is not linear -- it has many ups & downs, and as time moves on, I have learned grief doesn't go away, it just... softens. Many of us are all grieving if not someone, something or both. Isn't it an incredible thought that your story, your heartache, could very well be someone else’s HOPE? It is such a beautiful spark of bright light in what may feel like utter darkness. A full circle & intricately woven way of how we are all, at the core, truly connected.

EVERY SINGLE ONE OF US has our own story -- let's be kinder, have more grace & continue to be open to learning how differently we may process things, yet how similar we may actually all be.

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