Grieving

This picture was taken last fall, right before Lincoln went in for a scheduled MRI.  I LOVE this picture.  I love that he's such a happy kid and could truly light up a room with that smile.  I also love that he's holding his lovey 'Raffie', as we named him.  This giraffe still smells like him and helps me remember what it felt like to rock Lincoln to sleep each night.

Grief.  Oh what a tricky word.  What a complicated meaning.  And really it's all such a mystery since all I hear lately is that grief looks different for everyone, and everybody deals with grief differently.  Someone asked me the other day if I was on medication.  I replied with, "NO!  I don't know, should I be?!!  Maybe.  Probably!  I don't know!" And that's the thing, no one can tell me if I'm doing this grieving thing right or wrong because no one knows.  And I guess there isn't a right or wrong "way" at all.  It seems the blind is leading the blind.


In the recent, I have conversed with many who start telling me a story about what's going on in their life and then they stop quickly and say, "Well, it's nothing compared to what you're dealing with right now . . . " and I have to stop them right there, because nothing can ever compare to what we're going through, and so we don't compare.  We just don't.  And no one, except for Shane knows exactly what I'm going through so I would never expect anyone else to understand.


One of the first few years I was a special education teacher I had a student that I fell in love with and who has an incredible family, whom I'm still in contact with.  He has had four brain surgeries and his medical history is about a trillion pages long.  His mom is and always has been an inspiration to me and one thing in particular that she told me when Lincoln was first born has stuck with me ever since.  After Lincoln had his NG tube put in and had been in the hospital for a total of maybe 48 hours I was about going completely crazy sitting in that hospital room.  As we left the hospital I thought of that sweet student of mine and how he had been in the hospital for months at a time throughout his few short years of life.  And then the thought came to me, 'what right did I have to complain about my son being there for 48 hours when that student had spent months in the hospital'?  I wrote his mom an email soon after that, explaining my thoughts and telling her how amazing and strong I thought she was and didn't know how she did it!  Her response was simple.  She wrote, "We don't compare things around here to brain surgery, or else nothing else would seem significant."  (you can read more of his story here)


I have not only thought of her wisdom many times throughout Lincoln's few short years of life, but especially since his passing.  And the reason is because everyone has trials, big and small, we just must not compare them; we have to just learn as we are suppose to learn.  Neal A. Maxwell said, "Performance is what matters, not the size of the stage."  (you can read his amazing talk here )


9 days before Lincoln passed away the most perfect post was added to one of my very most favorite blogs, thislittlemiggy .  I loved every bit of what she said and related to every single word.  After I read it I wanted to share her thoughts on this blog, yet obviously never got around to it.  And now more then ever, I must remind myself of what she said:


She describes sitting in the waiting room of her daughter's therapist and overhearing a woman talk about her child.  She then writes: 

You wanna talk about problems?  I thought to myself, I'll show you problems... 
And that's where I have to stop myself.  I can't play that game.  Even if the playing field is only in my head. 
It's the game where no one else's kids have problems as hard as my kids' problems.  Or the game that no one ever says the right thing and no one really knows how to relate to our family.  It's a mindset that is within reach if I want it.  A sword to draw at any time to cut someone else to the quick and remind them that Hey, I've got the right to complain.  But I don't.   At least not more than anyone else. 

I allow for feelings of genuine discouragement and heartache.  I have the right to grieve from time to time and even worry about unknown scenarios in unknown futures.  My biggest worries stem from the social aspect of my daughter growing up, and how others will treat her.  Regardless of my belief in a Savior and eventual eternal joy, I have always felt that there is a time for sorrow and tears.  So I don't feel guilty about true feelings of sorrow and grief. 

What I sometimes must guard myself against is the prideful side of comparing and self-pity.  It's a poison I don't want to get caught up in and least of all something I don't want to pass onto my daughters.  From the outside it could be hard to tell the difference between genuine sorrow and prideful sorrow, but on the inside I know which is which.  If I could sum it up I would say genuine sorrow is a part of grief that when addressed may help in the healing process and compel you to keep moving forward.  Prideful sorrow if given root would only continue to fester and boil, stunting growth and progression altogether. 

It's not always easy seeing the cup half full and counting our many blessings.  I am only human afterall.  But I'll keep fighting the good fight of resisting prideful comparisons, and the ease of excuses and pity. 

(You can read Miggy's entire post here:  A Good Fight)

My point of all of this rambling is that we all have our trials and challenges in life.  No one's struggles are any better or worse than anyone else's.  We are all here to learn what we are suppose to learn and of course we all learn things differently.  I believe the Lord knows each of us and understands how we all learn best.  And let me just say for the record: I am no where NEAR perfect.  And yes, there are times when I definitely feel like I for sure have a harder life than anyone else and my trials are far worse than every other person, and for sure I'd win the game of 'whose life is worse'?  But I continue to try and remind myself to grieve with genuine sorrow and resist feeling prideful sorrow and making comparisons about who has a worse life.  And most importantly, remembering that we can't compare everything in life to brain surgery, or nothing would seem of any significance.