A Joyous Perspective on carrying on after loss. Surrender, but don't give yourself away.

On this Friday Night Thought Tale Hour with the Henderson's, we find ourselves on a Good Friday and Easter weekend. I am reminded of a quote, "Every day may not be good, but there's something good in every day." (Unknown). Tonight I want to talk to you about finding something good in the worst kind of day. Like the Good Friday tradition, I hope my thoughts can give you hope. Hope that there can be life again, after a day when hope seems far away.

In April 2008, my oldest son was killed. My life changed forever that day.

Suddenly.

I wrote in my journal in the early morning hours after receiving the news, "My son is dead. How can this be real? How will I be real ever again?"

People talked to me about the stages of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance... To the point where I would just stop them at the 'de' sound.

But I did try.

The more I tried to see a cycle, the dizzier I became. I mean, seriously, I'm a first-class negotiator, and I never attempted bargaining in this case. Working this logical path seemed like being someone I wasn't. I had lost too much to now lose myself also. To find a way through this, I had to find a way I could call mine. I now believe that all of our paths in grief and loss are unique.

So why take the time to share my way with you? Well, because I think some of it is transferable to another grief or loss situation. It may not be as dramatic as mine, but all loss is a turning point. It might be losing the ability to run due to a physical change, or having a kid move away to college. A loss is a transition. You find yourself in an uncertain spot, wondering how to carry on.

Life Can Be Beautiful

The very first thing I had to believe again was this - in the bleakness of all that surrounds a significant loss or even a lesser one, we have to find something beautiful to behold.

It's all about perspective, isn't it? One must learn to see and appreciate what we still have. In my case, all that was needed was to look into the eyes of my living children. At times, I could only muster the strength to follow the gaze of their eyes and see new love, weddings, grandbabies, nature. But there it was - beauty.

Perhaps, in your dark corner, you feel alone. Maybe you are alone, with no one to help guide your gaze to the beauty. That's okay. Start small. Watch the steam rise off your teacup. Look closely at a droplet of water. Go for a walk and feel the breeze on your face. Search for beauty. It will find you.

You're disassembled, but not beyond being put back together. 

It's not enough to just see the beauty. You've got to let it in.

When you are so focused on the broken and crumbled parts of your life and psyche,  you get stuck in thoughts of never being able to put things back together again. Maybe it's because you know it will never, ever be the same. I had to surrender to this truth, so I could start the process of renewal. It was hard.

My life, my family's life, would look different. I would be different. But I was not a Humpty Dumpty. I knew I wanted to carry on. So I surrendered to the reality of brokenness and rebuilding.

Surrender, but don't give yourself away.

The band, Cheap Trick, wrote a song with these words in the chorus. I must confess, I never really thought about their meaning much, until I started thinking about surrender. I wanted to surrender. I could not compartmentalize this grief. It flowed over everything in my life. But I did not want to give up who I was apart from the sorrow. I did not want to become unrecognizable to those who knew me. It was then that those words had meaning. I could surrender, but I did not need to give my SELF away. I needed to rediscover me.

And as I surrendered, I learned just how much my view had been altered by this loss. The loss of a child is genuinely losing a piece of yourself. I felt unbalanced and out of sync. The skeleton of my persona was exposed. As time continued, I realized that this fact could, and would, be a good thing. 

A new view.

I looked at everything through my new eyes. Grief and loss make you feel old and feeble. It's easy to want to hunker down and melt into the scenery.  Instead, I chose to take on the curiosity of a child. My grandchildren and my work helped me with this.  I looked at everything through my new eyes. I realized I could carry on with all the knowledge of what it is to lose something precious, with a new appreciation of the things that should be valued. 

Add to that a new determination not to waste time on the petty.

My grief experience has been anything but a cycle or a circle. But if acceptance is finding the path to joy again after times of not imagining, it could ever be so, then I am there. I have found a way to carry on, and it all started with surrender.

Life is beautiful, even in the sad memories and tearful interludes. I will always have my love for my son. 

I will never have to give that part of myself away.

Tonight, we are drinking Purple Martinis. Two more things about me that I will not give away - I love purple and vodka. Cheers, my friends.








Joy's Favorite Color Martini
3-ounce Vodka
1 1/2 ounce cranberry juice
1/2 ounce Blue Curacao liqueur
1/2 ounce sweet and sour mix
1/2 ounce soda 7-up

Line the rim of a martini glass with sugar.

Pour the ingredients into a cocktail shaker and shake gently. Add more blue Curacao if the color isn't purple enough. Garnish with mint.

**Always drink responsibly.