Paying Our Respects

I told them they didn't have to get out of the car when we pulled up to the cemetery.  After all, neither he nor the kids ever met them.  I was the one needing to draw close, to read their names in stone, to pay my respects in my own way.  The kids opted to stay, but he walked with me.  When we reached their graves, we stood there in silence, as if he was absorbing the memories, love, and nostalgia that were emanating from within me.  

 

There was a service plaque at the end of a long metal pole near my grandfather's footstone.  It was rusted and mangled and practically horizontal with the ground.  When he asked why it was like that, I said probably the groundskeeper had hit it with the mower.  He scoffed and made a comment about people being disrespectful. 

 

I watched him remove it from the ground and spend several minutes working to straighten out the metal pole as best he could.  Then I watched him stake it by the footstone, perfectly centered.  I was overcome with emotion for this gesture of respect and honor - for a man he'd never met or loved.  But he knew what PaPa meant to me.  And he knew that he was a hero to me, and that if he hadn't existed, I would never have come into existence.  It was a beautiful moment of tenderness I will never forget. 

 

 

“The bond that links your true family is not one of blood,

but of respect and joy in each other's life.”

~Richard David Bach

No Shortcut to Healing

I'm not sure how I can possibly explain the road from there to here.  In the midst of devastation and betrayal, it is impossible to cheer yourself with thoughts that "this was meant to be" and "there is a reason for everything".  No, there's no shortcut to healing. 

I had to feel it all to the depths - shock, betrayal, humiliation, vulnerability.  The sheer astonishment of someone's ability to do what you did......it knocked the air out of me.  But I had to be knocked that hard so that I would be down for awhile and not try to foolishly pop right back up, wanting to get right back in the ring.  I'd have been apt to over-estimate my strength and never see the knockout coming. 

No, instead I created a safe little haven for myself and I nested there for quite a very long time.  I was able to restore my strength and courage, and able to start at the beginning again and rebuild my foundation.  Slowly.  And it's stronger than ever because God is at the center of it, and not just in a superficial Sunday sort of way.

Like seeing a tornado touch down, I can so easily and clearly see God's hand reaching down to intervene into my life.  He gave me the opportunity to follow my heart and the courage to reclaim a lost love that would have haunted me the rest of my life had I not searched it out.  And despite the mountains of doubt I have had, I am seeing with my own eyes that people truly can learn from their mistakes and become better versions of themselves. 

No, there is no shortcut to healing.  But the long and difficult road is worthwhile, because when a wound heals, the skin is stronger than it was before.  Of course I still remember the devastation from two years ago.  But I can sincerely say that I am grateful for it.  I would never have arrived in this moment, had I not traveled that path.  And I'm right where I want to be.

"Iba volando sobre el mar
con las alas rotas

Ay amor apareciste en mi vida
y me curaste las heridas"

"I had no direction, I was dying

I was flying over the sea with broken wings

Oh my love, you came into my life

And healed my wounds"