Colors Fade

Our journey back from my mom’s funeral covered a few states.  That’s a lot of long hours…to think.

I spent a lot of time in silence, looking out the window.  Everything looked different.  I couldn’t describe it.  It just did.

A song came on, “Colors” by Amos Lee.  I’ve always loved that song.  It was painful to listen to that day, particularly this lyric, when you’re gone, all the colors fade.

There it was.  The grass wasn’t as green, the sky wasn’t as blue, images didn’t seem as crisp.

I thought I was going crazy.  Driving to work, I noticed the same.  And the images that brought me peace and comfort, the rolling hills, pastures and mountains brought melancholy.

It wasn’t until I got to work and was sharing my story with a friend that I put it together.  She talked about when her mom died.  “The grass wasn’t the same color,” she said.

And there it is.

My world is different now.

One day, I hope the world around me brings me comfort again.

I hope the gentle deer on the hill bring me joy.  I hope the cattle grazing make me smile.

I hope the grass is green again.

I hope.

Hope in the Darkness

At the end of 2013/beginning of 2014, I chose a word to focus on for this year.  That word was hope.

I had no idea how much I would need that word back in January.

We decided to move this year.  A good move.  In my book, a good move is one that you want, and this was certainly one of those.  This move was full of stressful inconveniences, as many moves are.  I thought that this was going to be the biggest life stressor this year.

Then my mom was diagnosed with cancer. 

And two weeks ago, my beautiful mom passed away.

I can barely type that without the grief rising to the top.  Honestly, I can’t even proofread this post without those emotions rising to the top.

At times, the grief is like a heavy coat, weighing me down.  Other times I feel hollow, numb.  I seem to feel every emotion possible, every single day.

The emotions are always there, under the surface.  A colleague caught me off guard last week with her condolences.  She summed it up like this, “It sucks.”  She lost her mom too.  I’ve noticed that other folks who have lost a parent use the exact same phrase.  It struck me right to the core in that moment…because it does suck.  I was so crippled that after that.  A few minutes later, I went into the office of some coworkers and announced, “No one make me cry.”  Because that’s how close those emotions were.  That’s how deeply the words “it sucks” sum up this pain.

People ask me how I am, which is lovely because I know that it comes from a place of genuine interest and caring.  I want to say that I am ok.  I want to say it sometimes because I don’t want to talk about it.  Other times, I want to say it because I want them to feel better about my grief.  And other times, I say it because that’s how I want to feel.

But I’m not ok.

And that’s ok. 

Here is what I know…one day, I will be ok.

I know that there will be a day when I won’t feel the constant crush of grief.

I know that it will still come in waves.  Because something that I’ve noticed from those folks who have shared their loss with me is that the grief still rises to the surface.  The pain is still there.  No one has talked to me about their loss without reliving their own.  And many of these folks are trained social workers, people who are taught to put their own feelings in a box.  That’s how deep the grief settles.

So for now, I will take this in moments.  Sometimes I do answer “I’m ok” because in that moment, I am ok.  And folks, that’s about as good as we are going to get right now.

And this word that I chose for 2014, hope, I need it more than I could have ever expected.

Right now, in this moment, I hold onto the hope that I will be ok.  I hold onto hope that my dad will be ok.  And that my siblings will be ok.  And that my kids will be ok.

 In this crush of grief, I need to believe those things.  I see others who have overcome loss and I know that we will be ok.  We will keep going.

Hope remains.

Blue Skies

My head has been cloudy.

My head has been cloudy for a while now.

I think I mentioned a couple of months ago that we were still in the middle of change.  It’s still happening. 

And the thing about change is that it doesn’t stick to just one area, does it?  It spreads all over every area of life.

Some change is tolerable.  And new opportunities present themselves.

Some change causes discomfort.  But you know that it’s temporary.

And some change causes fear.  Because you have no idea what will happen.

I often hold back from posting my inconveniences because I don’t want to complain.  I don’t want to throw out that negativity.

Silence doesn’t help. 

Silence is isolating.

Keeping your burdens to yourself is lonely.

We need people to connect with.

And we need faith.

“Blue skies are coming, but I know that it’s hard”

It’s not easy to let go and believe.  Hope is hard.

But what is reality?  Reality is we have no control.

We come up with plans and dreams. Maybe those plans and dreams don’t happen the way we thought.  Maybe they take longer than we thought.  Maybe they never happen.

So what does faith tell us?

Believe.

When things aren’t going the way I thought, I think back to survival mode.  I remind myself of that time for a few reasons.  Sometimes life can look even better than the dreams we had in mind, and waiting is part of the process.

Here’s the main reason: challenging times are part of life.  They are often unexpected.  They are harder than we could ever imagine.

But there is always hope.

Minor Inconveniences

One of the best parts about Colorado winters is all of this sunshine.  Growing up in the Midwest, winters are dark, gray and seem like they will last for the rest of your life.  Especially this winter.  Or so I’ve been told.  I found out that not everyone is so amused when you post a picture of yourself drinking a beer in 60 degree weather in the middle of February.

I get it.  It’s about perspective.

We are in the middle of some big changes around our house.  Good changes. 

But what have I mentioned a few times about me and change?  There is also fear.  Fear of the unknown.

I haven’t been sleeping well.  I go to bed early because I am completely worn out (and I turned into my dad), and I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t go back to sleep.

I wake up at 2 am with a to-do list.  I suppose I could write here that I have also turned into my mom.

Sometimes, there is waiting with change.  It can be a multi-step process.  Sometimes those steps seem never ending.

I found myself at a stand still this weekend.  A temporary reprieve from the projects.  There wasn’t anything else to do but wait.

So I sewed. 

And drank beer.

I actually relaxed.

I was able to gain some perspective on these changes.  See the bigger picture. 

When it came down to it, I felt privileged.

In my professional and personal life, I see people who are adapting to the world around them because of big changes.  But these are tragic changes.

My adaptations seem small.  Minor inconveniences for the sake of achieving a goal.

Even in the celebration of a restful weekend, I am still aware of the other side.  The shadow side.  I am painfully aware that I could have been handed a different set of life circumstances.  I am privileged.

As I take my to-do list to bed with me tonight, I am going to take a moment to readjust my perception. 

Remind myself that these are minor inconveniences. 

Be grateful for the privilege of these minor inconveniences.

And pray for those who are burdened with tragedy.

Hopeless Wanderer

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on my word for 2014.  That word to guide me.  That word that I need.  Last year, the word was awake.  I wanted to be more mindful of my world.

This year, the word is hope.

Hope.

Folks, I am weary.  And I’m not weary from the work that I do.  Ok, sometimes I am.

But what am I really weary of?

I am weary of cynicism.

I am weary of negativity.

I am weary of assumption.

And I am guilty of all of the above. 

I took the picture above on a run this fall.  We had some major flooding in the state.  Nearby us is a park that was built for the purpose of flood containment.  After the flood waters had cleared, I was able to survey some of the damage, and I found this.

I didn’t understand what I saw at first.

The brown of the trees, that was the area covered in flood water.  The tips changing in color for the season, that was untouched by the flood.

The trees were still hanging on.

Hope.

At times, I feel like those trees.  Weighed down by my own negativity and cynicism.  At the top, there is a glimmer of who I can be.  There is a glimmer of hope.

This is the year of hope.

This is when I start to believe that I can do better.  This is when I start to believe that we can all do better. 

In the work that I do, I meet so many people who have run out of people who care.  Friends and family have given up.  And sometimes, those healthy boundaries need to be set.  I can appreciate a healthy boundary.  But sometimes, all people need is someone to simply be with them. 

They don’t need judgment. 

They don’t need sympathy.

They need a person.  A real person.  A real person to say, I am here.  You are not alone.

Sometimes, they need a warrior.  Maybe we can’t always be that.  But we can be there.  We can be present.  My hope for this year is that we stop dismissing people.  That regardless of how someone’s life looks different than ours, that we still hear their story.  That we believe in people.

At the very least, I know that we can be kind. 

I look to the sign on my mantel.  The only decoration now that the Advent season is over.  Life is good.

I know that it life is good for me.  I have been blessed with much.  I have made it through some dark times.  Times when I lost hope.  But what about others?

I need to believe that life is truly good.

So this year, I am going to do my best to look beyond the cynicism.  The negativity.

This year I am going to dare to hope.

Hope that I can be a better person.  Hope that I can overcome my own assumptions and negativity.  Or at least contain it.

Hope that we can all strive for kindness.  That we can put away our need to be right and instead choose kindness.

Last year, I was inspired by a Mumford and Sons song, and this year is the same.

So when your hope's on fire
But you know your desire
Don't hold a glass over the flame
Don't let your heart grow cold
I will call you by name
I will share your road

One of my friends recently posted the following quote on facebook.  It desperately needed to reach my spirit.

Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place. - Kurt Vonnegut

I needed to hear these words. 

I need to let hope take over. 

So this year, I am going to be mindful of hope.  I am going to think back to those trees. 

I am going to let hope shine through.