Needing

 

It is fascinating to observe the development of language in a child.

At 2 1/2, my grandson is at the stage where he is coming up with a new word or phrase almost every day. We must be careful how we speak. Cautious in the choice of words. Because we will hear them mimicked back to us in ways and at times we least expect. James is a little sponge, soaking up every slip of the tongue, every misspoken word.

An interesting dilemma is faced at this point: If a child misunderstands the nuance of language used around him, how do you straighten it out for him? Since the development of vocabulary is in its infancy, which other words do you use in your explanation? It seems a little like looking up a word in the dictionary, only to find it defined by other words you don’t know.

For instance, one of James’ favorite phrases these days is, “I need it.” (He likes “MINE!” a lot, too.) The problem is that he uses it on occasions when, “I want…” or “I would like…” would be more appropriate. Our efforts at making the distinction have been fruitless so far. Think about it. How do you explain the difference between “want” and “need” to a two-year-old?

He might be sitting at the table, eating a p.b. and j. sandwich, when he calls me: “Mimi, I need some berries! I need them.” Or, more likely, “I need candy!”

He could be watching Mickey Mouse on his little DVD player, when he calls me back into the room: “Mimi! Mimi! Come here, Mimi! I need Pinochi(n)o!” (Or “Stoystory.”)

The most urgent needs, however, have to do with the amazing collection of STUFF that James now carries around with him like a ball-and-chain of toddler materialism.

If we’re just going from his house back to mine (10 feet apart from each other), he has to go through this frantic amassing of items to take on the trip. It’s like he’s being deported.

It started with a little lunchbox full of toy cars and trains. Then other items found their way in. Say the prize from a Happy Meal, a petrified French fry, and a dirty toothbrush. The lunchbox was soon outgrown. Next, he took over an old diaper bag. Larger items, such as stuffed animals, a blankie, and a flashlight were added. Then he advanced to a laundry hamper. You might find a ball, an Etch-A-Sketch, and one of your own long-missing shoes in that piece of luggage.

We took away the laundry basket and the diaper bag. Now it’s back to the over-packed (and extremely heavy) lunchbox in one hand; Cat in the Hat, blankie, Elmo, and a DVD or two in the other.

Remember: This is just to go next door.

You should see us on a car trip.

Of course we try to deal with it. “No, James, you can’t take all of this stuff with you. You don’t need it.” But “I need it! I need it!” he cries, as I try to wrest Elmo away. We usually come to some sort of a compromise. But it takes time and energy. Sometimes it’s quicker and easier just to let him cart all of his baggage around with him.

Hmmmm.

Now that I think about it, that’s kind of the way I am, hauling junk back and forth from coast to coast. It’s as hard for me to distinguish want from need as it is for James. To save the time and energy involved in discriminating selection, I just throw it all in the suitcase in a haphazard way. ‘Cause I might need it.

So many things I think I need.

I hear myself saying…hear others say…

“I need to get a manicure.”  “I need a new dress for the wedding.”  “I need a vacation.” “I need some space.” “I need somebody.” “I need a new laptop…phone…Ipod…camera… whatever-gadget-I-bought-9-months-ago-that’s already-obsolete…” “I need a change.”   “I need a raise.”  “I need to raise some hell.”  “I need a new house, car, T.V….body, face.” “I need a break!” “I need more, more, more.”

Like my grandson, I think many of us have seriously misunderstood the difference between need and want.

And we want many things that are not good for us. Not God's best for us. Once we attain them, they can become heavy burdens to carry...like a 30-pound lunchbox.

What do YOU need?

What do any of us really need?

In the end, it boils down to just one thing.

***************

“I am not saying this because I am in need, for I have learned to be content whatever the circumstances. I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.” (Philippians 4:11-13) 

Thank you so much for sharing your 'earthquake' stories with me. They moved me to tears. I want to respond to each of you individually, but the next 4 days are action-packed...so it may be next week.


There are so many un-sung heroes in the world. Your courage inspires me.


A few said things like, "My earthquake isn't as big as yours."  It doesn't matter. An earthquake is an earthquake. I've experienced tremors throughout my life. Whatever your earthquake is, the same principles apply.


We are united in our suffering, regardless of what form it takes. We cannot measure our circumstances against another's. Pain is pain.


I am so grateful for the honor of being trusted with your stories.


I will keep you all in my prayers. 


love, kim


p.s. If anyone else wants to share, the line's still open. Your words mean more to me than you could know. I hope to write about these stories soon. (I promise to keep everyone's confidentiality.)

every day easter

Earthquake

Kristos voskres. Voistinu voskres.

It* was, shall we say, an eventful day.  (*Sunday)

In the morning, we packed a yummy brunch and headed to the Hollywood Bowl for Bel Air Presbyterian’s Easter service. It is…quite literally…an awesome experience. Awe-inspiring. Gives me chills. Thousands of voices raised in songs of praise. Out-of-this world music from gifted musicians. Symbolically, soft green hills rise above the scene. Bright balloons and flowers dance in the breeze, joining in the celebration of the joy of new life. “The mountains and hills will burst into song, and the trees of the field will clap their hands…”

Families and friends share scrumptious picnics. Little girls flit by like butterflies in their Easter finery. Elegant ladies dressed to the nines and debonair gentlemen in suits sit next to tattooed and leather-clad brothers and sisters. Old, young, rich, poor…every race and tribe. “Come one, come all…”

To hear the words.

Love. Joy. Celebration.

Reverence. Relief. Restoration. Rescue.

Gratitude.

My grandson James didn’t know what to think about it all. At first, he was overwhelmed. He covered his ears when the loud music was played, and whimpered, “I wanna go back (to) Mimi’s house.” After a little blood sugar boost from some Easter candy, he became a more “lively worshiper,” as we say about some denominations back South.

Luckily, we were high up in the bleachers with a wide aisle. He rolled down it, around it, and climbed up anything worth climbing. His Daddy and his cousin-crush took turns playing with him/chasing him while the rest of us tried to concentrate on the service.

Covered in strawberry stains, candy, and dirt; hair greasy from the container of Vaseline he’d applied to himself and his room… James joined the jubilation.

He konked out on the long ride home, so we snuck him into his bed as we prepared the next part of the feast. It was supposed to be a moveable one between the two houses, but Jay had made the main house so gorgeous and inviting that we stayed there for all three courses. There were eight of us at the round table, including Amie’s friend Gloria and Jay’s cousin Johnny. First, we celebrated Russian Easter with borscht and caviar. Then, we ate the main course, which is based loosely upon the Seder meal with a Southern twist. (Leg of lamb, asparagus with horseradish sauce, curried fruit, roasted new potatoes with parsley, deviled eggs, iced tea, a little wine…)

In the stunned afterglow of an ‘ample plenty,’ everyone sat at the table laughing and talking. I went to get James out of bed to see his Easter basket and go on an egg hunt. Re-entering  the main room, I stood yacking in the opening into the dining room. Suddenly, I felt a little funny…almost woosy. I stopped talking mid-sentence when I noticed the chandelier swinging from side to side. Matter-of-factly, native Californian Gloria stated, “Earthquake.”

Jay came back in from the kitchen. We were all frozen; not in fear, but in wonderment. Faces registered bemused amazement. We were on a ride together. Undulating waves ebbed and flowed underneath us. In a strange way, it reminded me a little of the sensation of a baby moving around inside of me. That organic and gentle. But then the chandelier started going a little crazy. Candles in sconces on the wall flickered.

I got seasick. So did several others. (One, who shall remain nameless, said she “felt drunk, but not in a good way.”) James buried his head in an armchair and started crying. I took him outside to get some fresh air. It helped with the spinning.

The egg hunt was a bit anti-climatic after the earthquake.

THE EARTHQUAKE.

 I’ve finally been through an earthquake! “I’ve felt the earth move under my feet…”  I guess this makes me an official (part-time) California resident.

The afternoon was lazy and gentle. We had dessert (bunny cake and cookies) out in the yard and let James play. (Played with James.) We chilled. Slugged around. Hung out. Lay in the yard.

It was nice.

But, still, there was a sense of stillness and wonder that we had experienced an Act of Nature totally outside the realm of our control.

There was no way to press pause or get off the ride. Once again…a reminder that we’re not in charge. We live and breathe under mercy.

“An earthquake (also known as a quake, tremor, or temblor) is the result of a sudden release of energy in the Earth's crust that creates seismic waves.”

seismic 

  adj 1. relating to or caused by earthquakes or artificially produced earth tremors. 

1       

2 2. of enormous proportions or having highly significant consequences. 

Actually, our family has lived through more than one seismic shift in reality. Of enormous proportions. Having highly significant consequences. I’ve experienced the ground disappear from under my feet…been shaken to the core…knocked down to my knees. Felt everything come tumbling down in an instant. Crumble.

 I imagine some of you have, too. You’ve experienced instances when you realize that life as you’ve known it is gone forever. The house is falling down on top of you.

Sometimes there has to be destruction of existing structures before there can be reconstruction. Cracks in the foundation cannot always be repaired. Giant fissures separate and divide. But from the ashes and rubble come beauty and resurrection.

***************

In re-reading the Easter story this week, these passages jumped out:

“At that moment the curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. The earth shook and the rocks split. The tombs broke open and the bodies of many holy people who had died were raised to life. They came out of the tombs, and after Jesus' resurrection they went into the holy city and appeared to many people. When the centurion and those with him who were guarding Jesus saw the earthquake and all that had happened, they were terrified, and exclaimed, "Surely he was the Son of God!" (Matt 27:51-54)

 “After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb.

There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow.” (Matt. 28:  )

It was an earthquake that broke open the grave on the first Easter.

“…a sudden release of energy.”

All of the pent-up love energy from the core of the universe suddenly broke out. The pre-existent Energy, which caused form and substance to spring forth from void, exploded out into the visible world as a palpable Life Force. Resurrection power shook Death down to its knees. Turned it into debris.

That seismic activity produced the most "highly significant consequences" in the course of world history.

Because of it, there is hope for rebirth, rebuilding, and restoration from the messiest piles of rubble in our lives. There is resurrection power available to us in the midst of destruction and devastation of every kind.

Because He lives...

***************


I'm sorry this is being posted a bit after the fact. People move on to the next event quickly. Easter is last week's news. But I've been bitten by either a bad bug or an earthquake hangover, so I couldn't finish 'til now. (The room's been spinning. )


Anyway, in re-reading what I started on Monday, I realize that I need to celebrate Easter every day, not just once a year.


I'm planning on posting more pictures of the day when I feel a little better.


In the meantime...if anyone feels like sharing any "earthquake" stories...times when the ground has given way beneath you...I'd love to hear them. If you're not comfortable posting, you can email me at kta2754@gmail.com.


thanks!
kim

Rejoicing With Those Who Rejoice

I’ve got to brag on my kid a little.

I know it’s tacky. But I’m not taking credit for her virtues. She just came this way. (And she’s not perfect. Sometimes she bugs the you-know-what out of me.)

She has a trait that is very rare in this world, however.

She truly knows what it means to “rejoice with those who rejoice.”

She lives it now.

I know many people who, when denied a dream, become bitter and vindictive toward those lucky ones who have their dreams realized. The attitude is: “If I can’t have it, then neither should you. It’s not fair!” I confess to having had pangs like that myself, so I’m not totally unsympathetic. But I have seen that envy turn into pure poison that spreads throughout a person until they are pickled in it.  And then they poison everyone with whom they come in contact. I’m sure you know people like this, too. A particularly vicious strain comes out in competitive mothers who live vicariously through their children. I’ve seen instances where women grow to hate other women whose children win more accolades than their own. Sadly, I’ve witnessed that spirit of jealousy destroy long-standing friendships.

Unfortunately, a negative response to the good fortune of others is more prevalent than we care to admit. Often, it is thinly veiled by surface niceties. But I think there’s a knee-jerk sandbox reaction that can easily spring up from deep inside: “You got the toy, and I didn’t. The teacher picked you to erase the board, and not me.” As if the other person took something that was rightfully ours.

When I’m in a bad, dark place, it is hard for me to really rejoice with those who are ecstatically happy. It just doesn’t come naturally. I have to work my way around to it. Have a little attitude readjustment time. Remind myself of my blessings. Repent of my self-absorption.

That is why I am so in awe of my child’s ability to feel joy for others in spite of her own situation.

Her circumstances are fairly bleak these days. Accustomed to the limelight, she sits quietly on the sidelines now…witnessing others inherit her dreams. But instead of becoming bitter, she is blessed to see them prospering. She rejoices in the success of those she loves. She uses whatever influence she has to promote the achievement of their aspirations. From a place of weakness, she still manages to give others an upward boost.

At this point, Katherine realizes that many of her own long-cherished dreams will not come true on planet earth. That chapter is over. But she doesn’t sit around crying about it.

I think I might.

***************

Last weekend, Jay’s cousin Johnny invited us to attend the premiere of The Greatest, a soon-to-be-released movie starring Pierce Brosnan, Susan Sarandon, Carrie Mulligan, and Johnny! (Simmons). Jay and Johnny’s grandmother, Muggie, flew out from Mississippi, and Johnny’s parents, Cindy and Ben, came from Texas.  Johnny made the limo driver come from Hollywood all the way to Culver City to pick us up, and then back to Hollywood in early evening traffic to the theatre. We felt pretty darn cool.

The actors did the red carpet thing, and then we were escorted into the theatre for the movie. The Simmons contingent had the best seats in the house. Pierce’s family was two rows behind us.

Johnny’s performance* was stellar. For the first time, he finally got to show the range of his talent. He made me cry.

Katherine was so proud of him. We all were.

After the movie, everyone rushed out to the reception. Katherine plodded along with her cane and Jay. It was crowded by the time they got there. We found a table in the furthest corner and set up base. I went to get drinks. Waiting at the bar, I realized that I was standing next to Carrie Mulligan. For those who don’t watch the Entertainment channel, she is a young British actor who was up for an Academy Award for Best Actress just a couple of weeks ago. (Sandra Bullock beat her out.) Fearless after my recent conversation with the Famous Movie Star, I told her that I enjoyed her performance. She was gracious and friendly. Jay came up just as I was leaving to take the drinks back to the table.

The next thing I know, he’s bringing her back to our corner in outer Siberia. Where she stayed and stayed until we said the equivalent of: “Well, we don’t want to hog you. We know you need to mingle.” But she was in no hurry to leave. She was enjoying her talk with Katherine.

As we got back in the limo, Carrie and entourage were getting into the car behind us. “We’ll have to barbeque sometime,” she called out to Jay in her adorable accent.

In spite of everything, I still think my kid’s a star.

***************

This is what she lives by:

"The body is a unit, though it is made up of many parts; and though all its parts are many, they form one body. So it is with Christ. For we were all baptized by one Spirit into one body—whether Jews or Greeks, slave or free—and we were all given the one Spirit to drink…

God has arranged the parts in the body, every one of them, just as he wanted them to be…

God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it." (from 1 Cor. 12)

***************

 (*One reviewer wrote:  “Johnny Simmons is the real reason to see this movie. He gives a star turn.”)

(p.s. Since I've been such a shameless name-dropper here...and since so many have asked...I might as well go ahead and tell you that the Famous Person mentioned in "Shutters" was Jennifer Garner. I suppose I felt originally that I shouldn't invade her privacy like everyone else. But, in retrospect, why shouldn't I give her acknowledgement for being such a sweet person? Go see her movies.)

Faithful friends...

Thank you all for your prayers yesterday. The surgeon feels that the surgery was a "success" although Katherine's double vision is not totally corrected yet. The two images are much closer, and the hope and prayer is that they will eventually merge into one as the healing continues and the brain re-wires. She is such an uncomplaining good sport that it amazes me. She is experiencing a good deal of pain right now. Jay has written a more detailed account on caringbridge.

We decided that it would be best if James and I did not go to the hospital since he is in such an "active" stage. One of Katherine's most faithful friends, Kelli Powers, sat with Jay in the waiting room. Kelli is a special gal. I can't begin to tell you everything she has done for us throughout this ordeal...organizing help, spending nights on the cot in Katherine's hospital room, interceding, and on and on and on. Amazing. Kelli and her husband Matt just adopted a 14-year-old boy last week. And she is expecting her first baby any day now. It is an extremely busy and transitional time in her life.

Still, she came and sat with Jay for the whole surgery. That is sacrificial love.

On top of everything else, she wrote a beautiful piece on her blog yesterday about Katherine: http://www.successisrelative.com/shifting

I am so grateful for all of the faithful friends who have not abandoned us on this hard journey.

Thank you...

Katherine's Eyes

This was originally posted on Katherine's Mom's Blog on August 22, 2009.  As I type this, Katherine is undergoing a second complicated surgery in an attempt to correct her terrible double vision. Please join us in praying for complete restoration of her sight. There is risk involved to the "good" eye.

As always, we are so very grateful for your support and prayers.

Bless you!
Kim

“But it is her eyes that make me want to wail like those women whose “weeping was heard in Ramah.” Those big beautiful aqua eyes, clear as a pristine sea, are out of Katherine’s control. Eyes that could pierce straight through you, eyes that focused in on you as if you’re the only one that matters, now roll around the sockets like big blue-green glass marbles. The right one is infected, red, and suppurating. The pupil hides in the inner corner for the most part, like it’s afraid of what it will see if it comes out. The left is constantly jumping around, but I know she can see out of it. A tear rolled down her cheek when I showed her a picture of James. (But, tough chick that she is, she let me know she wanted to see more.) Most of the time a black patch covers one eye (alternating sides), so she looks like a battered little pirate.”  (“A Bruised Reed,” April 29, 2008)

I couldn’t sleep last night, so I snuck out to the living room for some early-morning quiet time. We have a full house in the aftermath of Katherine’s most recent surgery, so time alone is a gift.

With a click and a scroll, I time-traveled back to where we were 16 months ago.

Perspective is everything, we keep telling ourselves. I needed some perspective after yesterday.

***************

Several months back, my mother said something like, “Well, I’m just glad I didn’t know how my family was going to turn out. We used to be so happy!” Of course, I took it the wrong way at the time. But now I understand what she meant.

I am so very, very grateful that the future is hidden from us. People that consult mediums and psychics must be masochists. (Among other things.)

I am filled with gratitude that I couldn’t comprehend how severe and utterly life-changing Katherine’s brain rupture was at the time. The revelation came slowly, an onion unpeeling layer by layer. The mind possesses an amazing resiliency in protecting itself. I simply could not have wrapped mine around the devastating reality all at once. Each day’s trouble WAS enough. Dear Lord, please let Katherine live through the night. Dear Lord, please heal the pneumonia. Dear Lord, please don’t let the brain swell anymore... bleed anymore... Please help her to stop shaking... hurting... freezing... burning. Please let her move... speak... walk... eat... 

see.

As I said in April, 2008, it was her eyes that got to me the most.

Katherine’s eyes were the very first thing I noticed about her. She gave me a good, long stare just as soon as she popped out, as my mother says I did to her the first time we saw each other. (Babies aren’t supposed to be able to see at that point, but we don’t believe it.)

Katherine’s eyes took up half her face.

They were always her defining feature.

Katherine’s eyes were the most expressive eyes I’ve ever seen.

Katherine’s eyes... 

...sparkled with the joy of life 

...flashed with anger at injustice 

...narrowed at hypocrisy 

...moistened with compassion 

...crinkled with laughter

...widened with wonder

...saw deep beneath the surface into the very heart. 

 We blithely escorted Katherine to surgery on Thursday, naively expecting a presto-chango quick-fix restoration of her eyes. I was more excited than nervous about the surgery. I imagined that the surgeon would remove her bandages the next day, and her eyes would be miraculously back to normal, both aesthetically and functionally.

But that was not the case.


"What fresh hell is this?” Dorothy Parker once wondered sardonically.

Katherine’s ‘fresh hell’ is that, for now, the double vision is worse, not better.

Her world is grayer, not rosier.

It is hard for all of us to bear.


But I know that many times, things have to get worse before they get better.

And most times, prayers are answered in stages, so that faith has an opportunity to stretch and grow.

I thought of this story:

“They came to Bethsaida, and some people brought a blind man and begged Jesus to touch him. He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. When he had spit on the man's eyes and put his hands on him, Jesus asked, "Do you see anything?"

He looked up and said, "I see people; they look like trees walking around."
Once more Jesus put his hands on the man's eyes. Then his eyes were opened, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly." (Mark 8:22-25)


I’m praying for some Celestial Spit.

***************

“I will not drive them (enemies) out from before you in one year, lest the land become desolate and the wild beasts multiply against you. Little by little I will drive them out from before you, until you have increased and possess the land.” (Exodus 23:29-30) 

Simplicity

School’s out. The ice-cream man jangles his jingle, enticing the kids with the lure of after-school treats. A neighbor, strolling down the uneven sidewalk, stops to chat on someone’s stoop. Birdsong competes with the singsong voices that drift over the tall backyard fence. Sporting a stylish apron, I hang laundry on a makeshift clothesline while a little boy plays in the dirt.

I am dreaming that I am the mother in “Leave It To Beaver.”

No, I am awake.

This is my life now.

At least part of the time.

It does seem like a bit of a warp.

If I let myself, I can catch scents and glimpses of my early childhood. Dick and Jane playing in the yard while Mother hangs the laundry. The smell of sunshine on drying clothes. An image of myself, age 6, flying down the hill to intercept the ice-cream man before he leaves our street. Diaphanous curtains blowing in the breeze from windows left open all day.

Simplicity.

The work is hard, but the life is simple.

How often I have longed for simplicity in the past. How hard and how fruitlessly I have tried to achieve it.

But now, it is here. It is a gift.

One that came at a very high price, and through a means I would not have chosen.

Nevertheless…

“Tis a gift to be simple…”

Help me to embrace this gift.

Handing Out Permission Slips

The older I get, the more suffering I see.

I got a pie-full in the face the last time I was home.

Friends my age with incurable, progressive diseases. Lost loved ones. Divorces. Kids in rehab.

So much pain.

Now the truth is that when you’re not currently in a state of active pain yourself, you might not necessarily want to hear about the pain of others. Of course there are exceptions. But a lot of people want to avoid the acknowledgement that we live in a precarious world in which pain and suffering are inevitable components. Desiring no reminders of mortality, they avoid people who are suffering like the bubonic plague. Fiddle while Rome burns. Eat, drink, and be merry, buy a new pair of shoes…for tomorrow…who knows? I could lose the cosmic lottery. Tragedy could show up on my doorstep. It is best not to think about such things. Doing so might make it happen.

The human instinct to avoid pain at all costs can make us impatient with those who are in the middle of it. Unknowingly, we make their burden even harder to bear. Because it takes time to process loss.

In a multi-tasking, frenzy-paced world, those of us undergoing the process are not always given a great deal of grace. After a certain period, we are expected to get over it and get on with it. We are viewed as weak if we cannot. As a result, the grieving process is aborted.

I read an account of a plane that crashed into the ocean. With no bodies to bury, the families were creative in their memorials. A witness wrote:

“Some family members chartered helicopters to fly over the actual crash site; many survivors participated in impromptu candlelight vigils; literally hundreds joined together for a more formal ceremony that culminated in throwing wreaths of flowers onto the water at sunset. One broadcast journalist covering this particular event was overhead saying, “What’s wrong with these people? Why don’t they just go home and get on with their lives?””

This impatience is a relatively new phenomenon. Throughout history, mankind has established elaborate grieving rituals. Although there are cultural differences, most practices involve giving the mourner the gifts of time and space. Lots of time.

That’s why Scarlett caused such a scandal at the ball by dancing with Rhett in her widows weeds. In the 19^th century, “official” mourning lasted at least a year.

In the 21^st century, the Jewish way seems most gentle. Lori Palatnik writes:

“Judaism provides a beautiful, structured approach to mourning that involves three stages. When followed carefully, these stages guide mourners through the tragic loss and pain and gradually ease them back into the world. One mourner said her journey through the stages of mourning was like being in a cocoon. At first she felt numb and not perceptively alive, yet gradually she emerged as a butterfly ready again to fly.

The loss is forever, but the psychological, emotional, and spiritual healing that takes place at every stage is necessary and healthy.”

I think that is the key. A grief that is not allowed to be fully felt and expressed remains unhealed.

But grieving does not pertain only to the death of someone you love. There are many losses in life…losses of relationships, health, reversals of fortune, the loss of youth, loss of sanity. The empty nest. The loss of a dream that dies. All kinds of losses need to be healthily grieved before moving on. Stuffing the emotions back inside only makes them linger longer. Maybe fester. Turn into something worse than grief, like bitterness or cynicism or depression.

In “Missing Katherine,” I wrote of my own struggles in dealing with the loss of the pre-AVM Katherine. In some ways, I have lost a child…as I knew her then. It is very painful.

The comments I received on that post were among the most meaningful I’ve read. Brave women shared their own stories of painful loss. Cheryl wrote,

“Dear Kim, I have read your blog, and in many ways understand what you are feeling. Just before his 50th birthday, my husband was diagnosed four years ago with a very rare form of dementia called Fronto-temporal dementia. He has Progressive Non-fluent Aphasia which means that he cannot communicate, nor can he completely understand us. I am watching my husband, my best friend slip away before my very eyes. Our children are having to parent their dad, their hero. It is heart breaking, and yes, I miss him. I look at him, and see him, and yet it's not him. The only thing I can think of is that we have had so many blessings. God has been so good to us. I try so hard to concentrate on that.”

Susan shared her story:

“We moved to Atlanta in 2004 and one year later -- November 19, 2005, our son and daughter were involved in a horrible car crash which took the life of their friend and left our daughter in a coma. Every bone in her face was broken, teeth and bone knocked out and worst of all, the doctor said her lungs were beyond repair --"prepare yourselves. your daughter will not make it through the day." She is a miracle and God gave her new lungs. Yet she has had many other issues.

So we do understand, to an extent, how your family has suffered, yet no one suffers the same. Four years later our girl continues to have more reconstructive surgeries and endures chronic headaches. Life is serious and sad quite often. I too miss her carefree spirit, her symmetrical face, her confidence and on and on. Some days it just hits me, and I'm sad for all that's been lost. So thank you, Kim, for aiding in my healing today -- giving me permission to be sad for my little girl.”

Wow…thank you…for reminding me that we can help each other in that small way.

So for anyone out there who is suffering any kind of loss, large or small…today, right now, I give you permission to grieve, to cry, to question God…to rant and rave…to curl up in a ball on the couch…

To do absolutely whatever it takes to get it OUT. (Or to do nothing at all.)

Not because I’m any kind of special permission-giver, but because sometimes we’re much tougher on ourselves than on anyone else. And we just need someone…anyone…to give us the freedom and grace we seem unwilling or unable to give ourselves. 

It might as well be me.

And while I’m handing out permission slips, how about if I also give you permission…

To be imperfect…

To slow down…

To stop trying so hard to look good…

To stop comparing yourself…

To accomplish nothing…

To let it all hang out…

To not make up your bed…

To eat in bed…

To have a big fat bowl of ice cream. Or a glass of wine. (In bed!?)

To be who you really are.

To be real.

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"Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep." (Romans 12:15)