Strong.
Such a relative term.
Is it emotional, physical, psychological, social, moral?
Being strong is not always positive.
Nor it is always a choice.
And definitely it's not always deriving from a self determined life route.
Often I find strength to be the subject of conversation in my life. Usually I toss back the idea that anyone has the ability to have strength in this given situation. Truly, the alternative is melting into the universe and allowing your children to spiral out of control with no adult guidance to see them through. Trust me, I've pondered the melting into the universe thing. A rocket popscicle left on the back porch by a distracted toddler who comes back an hour later to find just the stick and a drippy, syrupy mess. That idea really is just shot to pieces. Screaming toddler, nasty mess, stick disposal. Melting into the universe is clearly not easy.
Now this is sounding bitter. Truly at the heart of this is that maybe being strong or having the strength to endure one's trials is not the compliment we all intend it to be. While we are here, I might just lump looking good during a tedious, heart wrenching trial into this.
Looking Good.
I was afraid I would terrify my children with the pasty, dark eye circled, greasy haired, scatter brained mommy who emerged in the days following Chris' death. (For heaven sakes I was mysteriously sleeping on the living room floor with one of my best friends and my parents.) Truly we all know that make-up can clear most of that up in a jif. When I was told I looked well, I would wonder if they were lying or if by some miracle my grief wasn't showing. It's sort of like a nasty panty line or that unmistakable moment where you realize you can see the pattern of your panties through your pants. No matter what you do in that moment, there they are, surprise! Grief is the same.
I digress....always. Nasty, nasty habit.
I want each of you to look at yourself in the mirror and make note that if it were you, you would have done the same. No, seriously. You would not have stayed in bed. You would not have lost your mind, I promise! I'm not down playing my coping ability, I get that we each have our own way of dealing with things. Nor am I necessarily boasting yours. I'm merely saying, you too would promise yourself to not let the existence of your children spin out of control. You would not let the world collapse around them or leave their fate to a Plinko board. (Yeah I'm not sure what the Price is Right reference is all about, but I'm leaving it). You would put one foot in front of the other, smile when socially appropriate, brush away the tears of your friends, tell everyone you are well, learn the strange way the widowed end up consoling their friends and family, breathe, try to remember to eat and try not to forget about what your life was like once upon a time ago. You would. That's why I am friends with you.
But no worries, if you forget you can do this, I will remind you. After all, you reminded me.
