I'm Here

When my nephew died, I stopped.

I refused to get up at 4:30am to run.

I couldn't bear to engage social media.

The idea of posting inspirational, life-giving mantras felt like a farce.

I ate anything I wanted, which included lots of milk chocolate and next to no vegetables.

I did only the things that I had to do...work, my children's activities, laundry and grocery shopping.

And, I l stayed largely sad and sometimes, mad.  It's still incredibly hard for me to make sense of a life lost way too early.

But then yesterday, I went to the funeral mass of a dear friend's mother...another woman who passed away too early as well.

And while I was praying and crying, watching so many loved ones gathered to say goodbye to an incredible woman, I thought about the way that she lived her life...to the hilt, brashly, boldly, fully and with laughter and fun.

And I thought, grief is grief and it probably won't ever go away, but it's time to live, because after all, I am a part of the living.  For many days, weeks, I thought it was a betrayal to laugh at things or post something flippant or silly, because really, doesn't the world remember and need to honor that someone really extraordinary has left us.

But I don't think that's how it works.  I think instead that you can be walking around dead, even though your heart is beating.  I think you can shut people and activities off that help you to rise to your best self.  I think you can lose sight that your one precious life is still available for whatever God has in store.

And that the real task is to live in the murk without letting the murk overtake you.  And this is no small feat.  It's hard to allow pain to move through you without letting it drown your being.  It's hard to look at pictures, video and to remember all that was so, so, so good and to know that those pictures are in the past.  And there is no rational explanation or sense to be made...so trying is in and of itself, futile.

But what is paramount is to live.

And so today, I ran again.

I just finished writing this.

I ate vegetables.

I documented in my journal.

I shared coffee with a friend.

And I thought, Nathan would like this.  He would laugh that I even wasted a moment on thinking that I shouldn't.

He knows that my story is still being told and that so too is his through all of us...and that we have a responsibility and a gift to say, "Today, I'm here."  Here's to the unfolding, pain, laughter and all...