I told the two children with me that morning that we were going to survive this awful blow.
And we have.
It has been hard and ugly and more painful than anything else we’ve ever had to do.
But we’re still standing.
And I want to encourage the hearts that are just starting down this broken road: You really CAN make it.
Some of you reading this are saying, “But I don’t want to make it. I want to lie down and give up and be out of this pain.”
I don’t blame you.
That’s precisely how my heart felt for months and months. The only thing that kept me holding onto hope was a strong desire that my precious family not have to bury another person they loved. It was enough to force my lungs to draw one more breath, and then another, and then another.
The breaths turned into minutes turned into hours turned into days-then weeks, months and finally, years.
Here I am, eleven plus years into this Valley and I can tell you this:
Sorrow is no longer all I feel and my son’s absence no longer all I see.
Yes, every single minute grief runs like background noise in my brain. I can go from OK to devastated in a heartbeat.
Yes, I miss Dominic like crazy.
I miss the family we used to have.
I miss the me I used to be.
But I am also living, loving and even laughing my way through most days.
I can go from tearful to joyful in a heartbeat too. I am even more grateful for the children that walk the earth with me. I try harder to be present, to listen, to lean in and love more fully.
The broken me is a more compassionate woman who knows the value of a minute spent with someone you love.
I’ve learned to shift the weight of grief to one hip and make room for other things.
It’s hard.
It’s going to stay hard.
But with God’s help, I’m strong enough to make it.
