Henry’s Joy
I dip my toe in the grief and slowly, slowly, start to swim through the familiar pain. It is exquisite, with sharp edges, piercing in new ways each time. I let myself stay, as long as it takes, knowing I can break the surface. I will breathe again. It will soften, if only for a moment, until I need to swim once more.
I come up, out of the water. I look for healing, a cure for this sadness. I hope to travel back in time. I look for my littlest son. I look for the happy ending. I find, instead, a small strength inside myself. I wade in the water and rise up, not healed, not cured. Clean.
This strength is humble and tiny, but it glitters in my hand as I turn it over and study it. Strength to ache, even to laugh. To be honest when the truth is ugly and I, even with my optimism, can find no silver lining.
Henry, my beautiful son, your legacy of joy will not be lost on me.
My family and friends show me kindness in a million different ways. They show up. They laugh with me, and cry for me. They send me beautiful flowers for my birthday.
My mom reminds me through her tears, “If you ever need to talk about anything, I’m always here. You can always talk to me.” And I know that is not easy on her mother’s heart to talk about those worst moments, or that nightmare night, but that it is said out of such selfless love. My dad comes over and asks nothing from me. Just sits with me and lets me talk, and listens, his love for me shining on his face. Mitchell’s parents are generous in their love, in their care. They share from their heart. I am moved, deeply, wholly, by each kind act, and let this love do its work on me.
These people, who are willing to feel such depth of sadness, willing to hold up a little bit of the sky for me. In the middle of this tragedy, this nightmare, I still feel grateful. I keep every card.
And so it is with me lately. The moments that shimmer, that ache. The giving and taking away, the sweet and the bitter. The strength that I found, inside myself, before I knew to look.
Sweet reader, sweet friend, you have that strength inside you too, for any tragedy, any nightmare night, you might face. I hope it leads you through it. And if you don’t feel it yet, you can borrow mine.
So we go on, we try, we keep breathing; in love, in grief, in Henry’s very own legacy of joy.
