Walking with grace through the dichotomies of life... I'm learning.

It's Friday, and time for another Thought-Tale hour here at the Henderson's. Our minds are on this Memorial Day weekend, and it's meaning for our lives.  May 26 is a day of complicated contrast for my little family and me.  It's approach this year- as it will be every year- finds us deep in memorial and high in celebration.  Memorial Day is a day which brings to our minds the sacrifice made by our Seth and others who died during service to our nation.  When it falls on the 26th, it coincides with the birth of his son, Nikolaus Jay Patient, whose twinkling eyes and passionate spirit remind us of the best of Seth.  Celebration and Memorial... Yes, this is a day of dichotomy, the very essence of contrast.  It has given me the opportunity to look at my perspective and share with you what I have learned about walking through dichotomies, as there are many that we all face in our lives.  

Some are glaring, and others overlooked, but all

 can provide us life lessons if we seek them out.

Soon after losing my son, I realized that I now would carry for the rest of my life a burden that I could either wear like a scarlet letter or a red badge of courage.  There is no in between.  This realization often places me in a spot where the wound I carry wants to bleed all over events that come up in my life.  Mother's Day, Birthdays, the 4th of July, Weddings, Easter (always around either Seth's birthday or the day of his death) Graduations - so many happy events forever marked by this reality I cannot escape.  This has been a time in my life where my quick smile has helped me to cover a multitude of tears.  I could stop there.  However, I've learned that it is better to choose to look outside of myself rather than remain trapped in a cell of grief.  I know that the depth of this wound can certainly garner more, so...

 I keep digging until I find 

a joyous perspective.

One example of how I can put the dichotomy to use with grace involves the work I do with people who have a disability and their families. We are a large family, not one of our children or grandchildren have a noticeable impairment.   So far as the evident, for the people I serve, our childbearing lives would seem quite contrasted.  But I have learned that the families are actually pretty similar to mine in many ways, as they too are dealing with a kind of grief, they just haven't buried their child.  Their child is alive, just facing a life where many of the things my little boys will have the chance to do will never be offered to their child, no matter how hard they work.  The place where our dichotomies meet, around a loss, allows me to provide comfort and encouragement in a unique way.  

Because I understand the subtle ways their grief can color their world, I point out the smallest victories rather than wait for the phenomenal ones.  Instead of droning on about the progress of my grandsons and how amazing they are, I hold back my comments and rather focus on how great it is to raise a child or be a grandparent.  I find the ways we are alike, and I can cry with them when the loss is overwhelming.  Interestingly, they often say, "I just can't imagine what you go through...", and sometimes I say, "Yes, you can, in a way."  During these times, I feel graceful where others might flounder, stutter or avoid.

Finding grace, and being fine with not having answers.

Those I encounter during all my personal times of dichotomy who do try to find a place where our differences meet to do the same for me.  Instead of making me feel I have to put on a strained happy face, they quietly acknowledge the hardship with a knowing smile and simple squeeze. These people provide me with more strength to endure than they could ever understand. 

It's silly not to acknowledge the irony of Seth's son being born on Memorial weekend, the year before he joined the Army and two years before his death.  Some would say that God was giving us a reason to smile in our grief, but I see it as something more basic.  It's a learning opportunity for those of us left behind: to be living examples of how to face a dichotomy with grace.  I will rely on the Ecclesiastic wisdom of Solomon and remember that "There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens" (Ecc. 3:1).  And on Monday, I will both weep and laugh, mourn and dance, and do it with grace. Cheers, my friends.