This year has seen tragedy strike my piano studio. Heart-breaking, devastating tragedy. The worst kind of tragedy. Two of my students have lost a parent to death this year.
At the beginning of the school year the mother of an eight-year-old boy (with two other sons, even younger) was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She exited this earth just last night, on her birthday.
In February the father of an eight-year-old girl (with another son and daughter, even younger) very suddenly passed away.
The mother that was lost was 38. The father that was lost was 36.
There is no sense in this. This is unjust and cruel. This is sad beyond any words that can be spoken or written.
These events have shaken me. To be sure, what I'm experiencing is in no way a comparison to the world-shattering realities both of these families face, and I am not trying to minimize that or elevate where it has taken me. But these deaths have made me examine my life, question my security, and quite frankly, brought me fear.
Brian and I are 35. These things could happen to us. Why shouldn't they visit our household? What is keeping tragedy from striking my home?
I had a moment with my hairdresser (who,like many, has a special knack for getting me to talk about things I wouldn't normally spill) where I was expressing sorrow for these families. The night before my appointment I had been in the kitchen with Brian, making a meal, laughing and enjoying his company. And then I stopped and thought, "here I am having such a sweet moment with my partner, and a few miles away there is a wife who is mourning the loss of her husband, and husband who is caring for a dying wife." And I felt bad; guilty about the lovely, care-free evening I was able to experience. I told these things to my hairdresser. And she, in no uncertain terms, told me that that was exactly what I was supposed to do. I was supposed to love Brian, hold Brian, and enjoy our time together. I was not to take that for granted and by having those sweet moments I was helping bring more love to this hurting world.
Many of you know that lately I have been raging over the phrase, "everything happens for a reason." Not everything happens for a reason. There is no reason that these six young children should be robbed of their mother and father. There is no reason this wife and husband should lose their beloved.
This is not to say that I think nothing happens for a reason. I do believe that the divine intervenes at times with mystery and infinite wisdom, opening up pathways, providing angels in our lives, or perhaps setting up a road-block. Sometimes the reason things happen is because of our choices. But sometimes there simply is no reason. "Everything happens for a reason" seems to take away our responsibilities as human beings. Because we are always left with a choice. We have a choice as to how we use the events in our life.
These mothers I've referred to, one who survives and one who has passed, have used these events in intentional and life-affirming ways. The mother who passed shared her experiences, through CaringBridge entries, of living in limbo - trying to live even as she approached what she came to call "her second birth." She wrote about the joys and the struggles in candid, beautiful and haunting ways; full of grace and always embracing the light. The mother who lost her husband has shared about that experience as well, through both a blog and honest, heart-breaking, and often hopeful and positive posts on Facebook.
And both have clung stubbornly to their faith in God. I use the word "stubborn" because I can't believe their faith just stayed put through these experiences. I believe they both had to make the audacious decision to remain rooted in this faith. Regardless of your beliefs, I think you would find both of these women to be inspiring and deeply thought-provoking as they have faced life's most difficult scenarios. I can't comprehend where they find the strength to carry on. Still, they have chosen to find beauty and goodness in this life even as they recognize and live with pain.
I don't know where this leaves me. I don't know that I have a conclusion to all of these thoughts. I only know that right now I grieve for these families. But I will also try to celebrate all the beauty they have experienced in their lives, and I will try to celebrate the beauty in mine. (If you need help finding some beauty, go ahead and watch the video below. May blessing find you where you are.)
1 comment:
good article, Lisa.
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