A clean slate.
365 days suddenly reset all the way back to 1.
It's a do-over, of sorts.
A chance to take a moment to think about what you'd like to do.
Some people call them resolutions. I don't make resolutions. Mainly, it's because I know I can't keep them. They are made in the pressure of the moment and often are too lofty and unattainable to make any real sense.
The older I get, I’m starting to realize that the new year is more like a hope for less heartaches and more blessings then the 365 days just passed.
Everyone suffers heartaches.
Some of us more than others. And, unfortunately, a single string of 365 days can often bring more than one’s fair share.
I have no idea why this happens. I struggle, as others do, when searching for the meaning behind multiple heartaches.
Back to 1.
In 2018, we lost Ed's mom. It was 16 years earlier when we lost mine.
Visiting Ebenezer Cemetery now, we walk from one mom's grave to the other, thankful that they are buried so close. I think they would have liked that.
For us, well, we're the 'parents' now and we don't like it. They're supposed to still be here. Both of our mom's were taken too soon.
Ed is an only child and he is lost without his mom. Seeing his grief brings mine back to the surface.
I tend to push the loss aside and try not to think of the intensity. Of how mad it makes me. Of how sad it makes me. Of how devastatingly lonely it makes me. It never leaves me. Grief...sitting just beneath the surface...bubbling up at unexpected times.
Ed is going through what I did. Trying to figure out how you go day-to-day without your parent. I know what's ahead for him. It won't be easy. I know this because I am still struggling all these years later.
Back to 1.
The new year is another attempt.
Can you successfully make it through? What does that mean to you? For you?
I look at my friends who have suffered similarly devastating losses over the years. It could be argued theirs are even harder as they've lost a child or a spouse. Those are losses I've not had. My heart aches for them...for the loss I can't even imagine.
I think of my kids. They've suffered the same losses as we have, and, yet they are impacted in other ways. No grandparents left. Ed's mom was the last grandparent they'd had and she was the only one in their lives since my mom's death. Grandchildren are supposed to be surrounded by their grandparents. Grow up with them. Know the actual person and not just the stories we tell.
Back to 1.
This year it's down to just the kids and us. It happened earlier than it should have...yet here we are.
We’ll be okay. We have each other.
Somehow the heartaches turn into those blessings I hope for each year. I only need to look to find them. It may only be a glimmer. But there are blessings in the most unexpected places.
When your heart is broken, you draw those you love even closer to you. You begin to pay attention to the little things. You try to laugh a bit more than you had before. You cherish the togetherness of friends and family. Ed tells me not to sweat the small stuff. I'm trying. I really am.
Blessings will come.
They always do.
While I would prefer to have never had the heartaches, I understand we must suffer loss as a part of life. It's the natural progression.
No, I didn't make any resolutions this year.
Instead, I will simply take one day at a time.
A year's journey awaits.
Heartaches.
Blessings.
2019 will be what it's supposed to be. Arm in arm with those I love.
It is what it is.
p
