Allow myself to grieve (Part 2)

It's a whole new world we're living in right now for the time being until this coronavirus gets under control. It's like all of our planning, striving, and living came to a screeching halt, and God decided to press the RESET button on all of us. And now here we are, all around the world, rethinking what it really is that we're living for.

I'm a pretty positive person, for the most part, and I'm always on the lookout for a silver lining, for things to be grateful for. I avoid negativity like the plague. I mean, it is what it is. No amount of complaining, whining, griping, stressing, or wallowing in self-pity is going to change it. I'll do my best to do my part and guide my family to do our part, and we'll accept what is and keep doing the next right thing in front of us. We'll trust the light God gives us for the next step ahead.

But then I woke up the other day in a funk, and reality hit me smack in the face, making the tears well up quickly in my eyes. And as positive as I want or try to be, I realized that I need to give myself permission to grieve what may be a very real, huge loss this year.

Graduation. My baby's high school graduation.

First the announcements came in the mail the day they closed schools indefinitely (meaning, we really have no idea how long this might last).

Then a few days later, the tassle came in the mail.

And now I'm hearing of several states around the country closing physical school (not e-learning) for the rest of this school year.

At this point, there's absolutely no way we can foresee or even predict what may end up happening. And that just breaks my heart. And if I'm grieving as a mother, I can only imagine the thoughts and feelings that he's trying so hard to process in the face of a reality that he is really struggling to wrap his mind around. (And believe me, it's been a battle to get him to understand it.) My busy, responsible, hard-working, always-on-the-go, using-every-minute, serving-behind-the-scenes, redneck, truck-loving, college bound, headed-to-Africa kid just.can't.grasp.what.is.happening.all.over.the.world.

My heart hurts for his heart right now. It's a very real possibility that a big graduation ceremony may not happen. And how can I wallow in self-pity when every single 2020 senior is in the same boat? Of course, we'll make the best of the situation and find every little thing we can be thankful for through all of it, but I really do need to allow myself to grieve this one if that happens.

 He and his dad's pride and joy.

This class of kids came into the world in the latter part of 2001, right after 9/11 shook us all. Now here they are weeks before graduation in a world that's shaken up once again. God chose these kids for something special, and he's preparing them for something great.

Here's another poem I wrote out in that boathouse on my writer's retreat with David on my mind.

Count on Me

Oh, my darling child

My precious little boy

You are my daily sunshine

And bring me overwhelming joy.

To think I could have lost you

On the night that you were born

To have missed out on your life

Just the thought makes me mourn.

I savor all our memories

We created over the years

A lump grows in my throat

As your graduation nears

I cherish all your snuggles

As we cuddled up with lots of books

Couches, hammocks, beds, and chairs

Made up our cozy reading nooks.

I hold on to our summertimes

Filled with adventures every day

Riding bikes and taking walks

Exploring whatever came our way.

We swam, we cooked, we traveled

To places near and far

Experiencing the world together

Be it by airplane, train, or car.

I found our time so rewarding

As we drove to school each day

Your maturity displayed so clearly

In our deep discussions on the way.

You opened your heart to adoption

And grueled through the process, too.

Then you grieved right by my side

When everything fell through. 

You questioned God along with us

And grappled with faith through loss

Yet your trials produced a young man

Who looks to God as his boss.

I knew God had your heart

When you began to take the lead

Inviting your friends to church

And serving so many in need.

You accepted an older brother

And sacrificed your rightful place.

You’ve watched our family struggle

And yet still cover us with grace.

God has a mighty plan for you

That I’ve prayed for since your birth

May you follow him in everything

And never discount your worth.

I hate the way this feels

Watching your childhood slip away.

But I’m in awe of the man I see

That God molded along the way.

I love you to the moon and back

To forever and beyond

I am so grateful for your life

And our deep, spiritual bond.

No matter what life brings 

You can always count on me

To pray you through it all

To be who God made you to be.