This Is Me
When our whole sense of ourselves seems wounded and vulnerable, one of the ways we can claim our rightful presence in the world is to claim the legitimacy of our grief. That is who we are right now, and it is a valid way to be. In time we will see ourselves again in broader terms. But if, for a while, grieving is the main aspect of our being, then so be it. Martha W. Hickman
December is not far away, and I am keenly aware of my identity.
Throughout my life, I have played many roles – compliant child, eager learner, conscientious employee, supportive friend, mourning daughter, doting mother, curious adventurer, adoring bride. That’s just scratching the surface. Until January 1, on any given day, I could have answered, “Who are you?” in a number of ways, with no one aspect of me dominating the rest.
As I turn the pages of my desk calendar at work and see that just two turns remain before December, I am very clear about who I am. A heartbroken, heavy, grieving mother. This is the way it is right now. It won’t be forever.
If I do not embrace this reality, I will not learn what grief has to teach me. And I know from experience, it will come back later to bite me in the butt. Unprocessed grief will someday, somehow find its way out.
Lord, I know you are with me. I know I am surrounded by the love and support of family and friends. I know that Chandler would not want me to become paralyzed by fear and sadness. Because these things are true, I can turn the pages of the calendar and trust that I will get through this. Please help me to feel what I need to feel, knowing that these feelings, these unwelcome images, these fears will not kill me. I am a grieving mother. And I will be OK. Amen.