Journey of 1,000 miles

The journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, so the saying goes. 

And then there's the next one. And the next. And the next.

And a seemingly endless, terrifyingly long journey it is. Taken into the mind all at once, it seems insurmountable. 

So many things in life are like that. Grief is one thing. Pain is another. And truth be told, the entirety of LIFE is like that. One day blindly merging into the next and if taken all as one heap, overwhelming. Bewildering. Uncertain. Stressful.

Regret for the past and worry for the future fill our mental health care facilities. We can call it a lot of fancy-sounding names but the many forms of depression and anxiety boil down at their most basic form, to an inability to live in the moment. (Notice I didn't say an unwillingness. I said an inability.)
 
"Without help it is too much for us." (Alcoholics Anonymous, ch 5: "How it Works"). 

Help comes from various sources. 

• friends who care and who show it
• mental health professionals
• support groups
• 12-step groups (which primarily are NOT support groups, so they get their own designation)
• family and/or "chosen family"
• church members
• pastors and other church leaders
• and last but definitely not least, trusting in a "higher power" has the potential to help. Immensely.

Even the word "help" implies a source outside of the self, so let's not delude ourselves into thinking that we can do this (live our whole lives) in isolation.

Ahh yes. Like a two-year-old flexing his independence muscles, the self vaunts itself up and says, "Me do it myself." 

Maybe. But would I ever want to be that self-sufficient that I didn't need anyone? Would I like the kind of person I would become if I thought I didn't need others in my life? Ever?

I don't think so. 

I think I have met a few of those people who honestly think they don't need anyone else. They wouldn't think of reading someone else's blog - at least not one like this - because they feel they have it all together. (Of course there are many reasons for not reading blogs; that's just one of them. ;) ) ...  But here's the thing. While these folks ooze with a sense of their own brand of bravery ... well, I cannot recall ever wanting to be around them for too long, because it all seemed a little, you know, arrogant. Just saying. 

I do know a few people, though, in whose company I feel welcome, safe, and accepted. And every single one of them admit that they need others in their lives to be able to put one foot in front of the other. To feel centered.

To stay in today. 

Photo "Footprints On The Beach Sand" is by
foto76 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Life - and death, and deep grief (I am discovering) - teaches me that today is the day in which I live and love. Yesterday is gone, although I can still have wonderful memories to sustain me. Tomorrow is not here yet, although I can still dream of better days. But living life happens right here, right now, and while I'm doing that, I need help. And help is there. Even in the darkest of nights, all I need to do is whisper, "God?" and I know He understands. And He carries me for a while.

And there's more. 

Help from people is all around me if I know where to look; sometimes I need to ask for it, because people (contrary to my "if they love me they'll know how I feel" fallacy) can't read my mind, especially if I hide how I feel to "spare their feelings." (As if mine didn't count.) And sometimes help even comes unbidden, from places I never thought to check! This is certain: more people care about me than I had ever dreamed; I am finding that out now more than at any other time in my life. And although sometimes that care is expressed in ways I might not understand or appreciate at the time, I am learning to see past fumbled words and awkward silences and see the heart beneath. 

And it's good.

But help can only go so far, and the helpers around me only frustrated, if I insist on tormenting myself with the regrets of past that I can't change and with the dreaded events of the future that I am powerless to prevent. That is one reason why I have to remind myself to stay in today; it's the only way to not just survive, but to live. Fully. Take THIS step. Then the NEXT one. Left foot, right foot. Look up. Be grateful. Forgive. Breathe. Move on. 

Repeat. Repeat as many times as there are steps to take ... because the journey is worth it.

Unexpected

So much about the last several weeks has been unexpected.

Not the least of which was the unexpected visit from the police on October 23 informing my husband and oldest daughter of the death of the youngest member of our family the night before. Or the unexpected call I then got at work from my husband informing me of the same. 

Immediately, there were unexpected people standing there beside me, hugging me, doing unexpected generous and caring things in unexpectedly kind and thoughtful ways. People we thought barely knew us rallied around us - all of it unanticipated - we were never alone, never without support, never without the prayers and love of people near and far. 

There were unexpected reconciliations in relationships that seemed to happen almost unbidden. Family relationships, work relationships, church relationships. 

There were the unexpected gifts we received: food, friendship, finances, fellowship - each one bowling us over with implicit messages of caring, of concern, of compassion. 

Her friends "friended" me. They ask about how I'm doing. They show that they care. My family got a whole lot bigger. All unexpected. 

There were the condolences. The flood of people who came to the wake (okay, for those where I grew up that means visiting hours, not an Irish wake!) to hug us, to cry with us - from every facet of our lives, and some we hadn't seen in over a decade. The folks we didn't expect, who attended the funeral. Those who took their sparklers and lit them that night ... and made a video to put on Facebook to show that they honoured their best friend. The father of the young man who was a passenger in her car that night sent condolences on behalf of himself and his son. He let us know how the young man was doing; we heard his pain at his son's anguish in those words. He didn't have to contact us. It was unexpected. The card we got from someone in Ontario who used to go to youth group with her, telling us it was a joy to know her.

Getting every last morsel of icing off the
candles of her birthday cake - 2012

People we didn't know in Alberta contacted us. RCMP people, insurance people, coroner's office people. As professional as they had to be, they were also compassionate, sensitive, and kind. They still are. The medical examiner called our house Friday night to let us know the results of his report. He could have waited until we received it in the mail, but he wanted to let us know personally and as soon as possible, that alcohol was not a factor in the crash. That was unexpected.

And most recently, just in today's mail we received something that the RCMP in Wetaskiwin, Alberta had received and forwarded to us. It was a sympathy card, with heartfelt condolences inside ... from the family who was in the van that was struck that night - a mother and two of her children. Yet all their names were listed, and the names of those who were in the vehicle underlined. We'd been told that the mother's back was broken - that thankfully there was no paralysis. There was every reason for her to be resentful. Yet there was no tone of anger or of blame. Only sadness that our daughter "didn't make it."

Unexpected. 

And humbling. The overwhelming, overarching feeling we have as each piece fits together in this crazy jigsaw puzzle, is one of gratitude. There is so much that could have happened, which didn't. We've had to rethink a lot of things, redefine a lot of words.  Miracles abound - they started happening the very day we heard ... and they continue to this very day.  

And all around us, people are lifting us up, letting us talk, and welcoming us into their hearts. We are loved. And astounded.

And even these words are not enough to describe it all. And neither are the following words, but with all my heart, I'm saying them anyway.

Thank you.