Sometimes, there is a space that cannot be filled. Some folks call it a vacuum. I call it a broken heart. A chasm that aches for something that was lost. It could be a person, or a love, or an achievement.
I have suffered many losses in my life. From the death of pets, which anyone who owns one will attest to its impact; to being dumped by someone who you thought would be your soul mate forever; to having a seriously ill child; to losing a loved one. Each trial leaves a scar, an emptyness, a grief that cannot always be consoled.
And yet . . .
When approached correctly, there can still be hope, a glimmer, a smile, a possibility of something positive.
Our first dog, Floyd, was always abused in the back yard by blue jays. As much as I miss Floyd and his one floppy ear, when those blue jays come flitting about . . . I smile. I remember all the fun we had with that pooch and the unconditional love he shared with our babies and us with him.
When my first boyfriend left me standing two miles from my house at a beautiful lake in upstate New York, I was devastated. Couldn't even fathom taking that first step toward home. But, I learned a lot about myself in those following years and now I know that things occur for a reason. What I dealt with then, allowed me to make decisions down the road, and now I am married to the most amazing man ever with two incredible children. Who knows what life might have held had I followed that first path.
In the dilemmas of having a seriously ill child ~ or two . . . you often times seem adrift in trying to find a cause, a reason, something or someone to blame; until you realize that it is a battle more of stamina, perseverance, and determination. I would not wish our experiences on my worst enemy, but I wouldn't change what happened. The relationships, experiences, and triumphs we have garnered are undeniably some of the best in our lives.
To have lost four dads, grandparents, a great niece, and my mom . . . there could be enough sorrow to last a lifetime or two. I could be angry, bitter, wallowing in sorrow, or just bouncing off the walls in a little rubber room. But I choose to take with me, not the sadness of loss, but the joy of life. I live with the thrill of life they each offered; each very differently. I take with me the love they offered. I travel with the smiles, the joys, the quips and the sillyness they gave. I miss them all, but they all dwell within me in some manner or another.
Yes, vacuums suck, but we have the option to turn it off and to take from it the things we don't want drained from us. We can be victorious and happy . . . if we choose.
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