Allow myself to grieve (Part 2)

It's a whole new world we're living in right now for the time being until this coronavirus gets under control. It's like all of our planning, striving, and living came to a screeching halt, and God decided to press the RESET button on all of us. And now here we are, all around the world, rethinking what it really is that we're living for.

I'm a pretty positive person, for the most part, and I'm always on the lookout for a silver lining, for things to be grateful for. I avoid negativity like the plague. I mean, it is what it is. No amount of complaining, whining, griping, stressing, or wallowing in self-pity is going to change it. I'll do my best to do my part and guide my family to do our part, and we'll accept what is and keep doing the next right thing in front of us. We'll trust the light God gives us for the next step ahead.

But then I woke up the other day in a funk, and reality hit me smack in the face, making the tears well up quickly in my eyes. And as positive as I want or try to be, I realized that I need to give myself permission to grieve what may be a very real, huge loss this year.

Graduation. My baby's high school graduation.

First the announcements came in the mail the day they closed schools indefinitely (meaning, we really have no idea how long this might last).

Then a few days later, the tassle came in the mail.

And now I'm hearing of several states around the country closing physical school (not e-learning) for the rest of this school year.

At this point, there's absolutely no way we can foresee or even predict what may end up happening. And that just breaks my heart. And if I'm grieving as a mother, I can only imagine the thoughts and feelings that he's trying so hard to process in the face of a reality that he is really struggling to wrap his mind around. (And believe me, it's been a battle to get him to understand it.) My busy, responsible, hard-working, always-on-the-go, using-every-minute, serving-behind-the-scenes, redneck, truck-loving, college bound, headed-to-Africa kid just.can't.grasp.what.is.happening.all.over.the.world.

My heart hurts for his heart right now. It's a very real possibility that a big graduation ceremony may not happen. And how can I wallow in self-pity when every single 2020 senior is in the same boat? Of course, we'll make the best of the situation and find every little thing we can be thankful for through all of it, but I really do need to allow myself to grieve this one if that happens.




 He and his dad's pride and joy.

This class of kids came into the world in the latter part of 2001, right after 9/11 shook us all. Now here they are weeks before graduation in a world that's shaken up once again. God chose these kids for something special, and he's preparing them for something great.

Here's another poem I wrote out in that boathouse on my writer's retreat with David on my mind.

Count on Me
Oh, my darling childMy precious little boyYou are my daily sunshineAnd bring me overwhelming joy.
To think I could have lost youOn the night that you were bornTo have missed out on your lifeJust the thought makes me mourn.
I savor all our memoriesWe created over the yearsA lump grows in my throatAs your graduation nears
I cherish all your snugglesAs we cuddled up with lots of booksCouches, hammocks, beds, and chairsMade up our cozy reading nooks.
I hold on to our summertimesFilled with adventures every dayRiding bikes and taking walksExploring whatever came our way.
We swam, we cooked, we traveledTo places near and farExperiencing the world togetherBe it by airplane, train, or car.
I found our time so rewardingAs we drove to school each dayYour maturity displayed so clearlyIn our deep discussions on the way.
You opened your heart to adoptionAnd grueled through the process, too.Then you grieved right by my sideWhen everything fell through. 
You questioned God along with usAnd grappled with faith through lossYet your trials produced a young manWho looks to God as his boss.
I knew God had your heartWhen you began to take the leadInviting your friends to churchAnd serving so many in need.
You accepted an older brotherAnd sacrificed your rightful place.You’ve watched our family struggleAnd yet still cover us with grace.
God has a mighty plan for youThat I’ve prayed for since your birthMay you follow him in everythingAnd never discount your worth.
I hate the way this feelsWatching your childhood slip away.But I’m in awe of the man I seeThat God molded along the way.
I love you to the moon and backTo forever and beyondI am so grateful for your lifeAnd our deep, spiritual bond.
No matter what life brings You can always count on meTo pray you through it allTo be who God made you to be.