I'm not going to lie. This Thanksgiving has been most difficult--The happiest, saddest day I've experienced so far (and the weather seemed symbolic). Happiest, because I count my blessings and could go on forever counting. Saddest, because we do not have Sheldon and Thomas here to share it with.
We were watching the Thanksgiving Day parade on T.V. and I was stunned to be so calm one moment, and a complete wreck the next. I hadn't yet known that quick of a shift. It was as if I had stumbled into a room to find a little girl weeping. I literally found myself that way--crying and I hadn't known it.
Grief is the gift that is never wanted-- a gift we can glean so much from to deepen our comprehension of eternal truths. Strangely, profound joy can be discovered through working to understand its opposite.
My sister asked me what the most helpful act of service has been during this time. --And the answer to that for us is simply, sincerity. For each person it comes in a different form, but we know sincerity--can sense it from a thousand miles away. Sometimes that has meant no words at all. Instead, a quiet embrace. Allowing me to cry. Allowing Roger to share what he is feeling. Giving us space and time. To process. To feel. To grieve.
Knowing from my experience as an observer of tragedy, human nature has a desire to stop the suffering-- lessen it in any way one can, as it is difficult for us to see others in pain. This is completely understandable--However, to say or do anything with the intention to minimize what a mourning person feels in order to ease our own discomfort, is to take away that gift.
Mosiah 18:8-9 speaks of those who are "desirous...and willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort,..."
I am gaining understanding--for me, this scripture does not mean to take away the pain--but rather to help another gather the strength to bear up that burden.
A beautiful woman from my ward came over the day we got home from the hospital. She insisted she take my laundry. Others brought food, flowers and even donated photography. A few cried with us. These acts of service lightened my burdens and improved my day, but they did not attempt to take away my sorrow. Emails from friends and complete strangers letting me know they are aching with us, or that they feel of our loss (maybe they have experienced loss as well)--all help immensely. And yet, they do it knowing that it does not lessen what we feel, but instead gives us permission and strength to feel it even deeper. I am gaining a testimony that this process purifies us, and allows us to become even more like our Savior who knows of all anguish and hardship.
We were watching the Thanksgiving Day parade on T.V. and I was stunned to be so calm one moment, and a complete wreck the next. I hadn't yet known that quick of a shift. It was as if I had stumbled into a room to find a little girl weeping. I literally found myself that way--crying and I hadn't known it.
Grief is the gift that is never wanted-- a gift we can glean so much from to deepen our comprehension of eternal truths. Strangely, profound joy can be discovered through working to understand its opposite.
My sister asked me what the most helpful act of service has been during this time. --And the answer to that for us is simply, sincerity. For each person it comes in a different form, but we know sincerity--can sense it from a thousand miles away. Sometimes that has meant no words at all. Instead, a quiet embrace. Allowing me to cry. Allowing Roger to share what he is feeling. Giving us space and time. To process. To feel. To grieve.
Knowing from my experience as an observer of tragedy, human nature has a desire to stop the suffering-- lessen it in any way one can, as it is difficult for us to see others in pain. This is completely understandable--However, to say or do anything with the intention to minimize what a mourning person feels in order to ease our own discomfort, is to take away that gift.
Mosiah 18:8-9 speaks of those who are "desirous...and willing to bear one another’s burdens, that they may be light; Yea, and are willing to mourn with those that mourn; yea, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort,..."
I am gaining understanding--for me, this scripture does not mean to take away the pain--but rather to help another gather the strength to bear up that burden.
A beautiful woman from my ward came over the day we got home from the hospital. She insisted she take my laundry. Others brought food, flowers and even donated photography. A few cried with us. These acts of service lightened my burdens and improved my day, but they did not attempt to take away my sorrow. Emails from friends and complete strangers letting me know they are aching with us, or that they feel of our loss (maybe they have experienced loss as well)--all help immensely. And yet, they do it knowing that it does not lessen what we feel, but instead gives us permission and strength to feel it even deeper. I am gaining a testimony that this process purifies us, and allows us to become even more like our Savior who knows of all anguish and hardship.
"To take the grief out of death would be to take the love out of life"~Sharon Evans Brown
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