Finding the Life Lesson in Loss

On my way home from my grandfather's last evening, I finally returned my mother-in-law's call from earlier that morning. I had forgotten. She wasn’t upset, she simply asked, "How are you?"
 
"Other than the fact that I have a urinary tract infection, my grandfather is dying and my best friends are moving to Kansas, I'm fine," I responded. We laughed, until my eyes moistened and the enormity of what I'd just said hit me.
 
The truth is, I'm not fine, really. It stinks. Each of these events on their own would be a lot to deal with but together, it feels a little like waking up and learning I was just hit by a truck.
 
So now, I sit here in the wee hours of the morning, unable to sleep, hoping that writing will be the salve that soothes. I'm looking for the message, what I'm supposed to learn in this challenging time. Maybe the 'learning' has something to do with allowing myself to Just Be—to JUST BE human, imperfect, hurting. What I’m most aware of is a feeling of numbness. Every waking thought seems consumed by the ever-present ache of loss.
 
Last night, I slipped and hit my ankle on the stairs. It was the last straw. I wept, simply, letting go. These weren't the long, deep sobs that I know are coming when my dear PaSid passes on. Rather, it was the gentle tears of feeling overwhelmed, of fatigue, exhaustion, feeling the weight of the 'reality' of what is happening in my life right now.
 
My kids rushed to my side. "Let me help you, mommy," my daughter said. "Let me carry that," said my son. I settled into my chair in the bedroom as one by one they came to me, held me quietly and let me cry.
 
As a coach I am trained to question that word: reality. My job is often about helping people see their 'reality' from a different perspective, one that opens up new options to move forward. It can be an incredibly powerful tool and I have seen it create seismic changes in people’s lives.
 
And yet, I've also learned there are times my clients need to choose a perspective that is not "all rosy." Sometimes they have to make the uncomfortable choice to sit and force themselves to look at life's discomforts, to live in limbo and deal with something that is truly out of their control before clarity can enter. Sometimes they have to give themselves permission to be sad, hurt, scared—not to stay there permanently, but to honor the role those feelings play in their emotional lives.
 
There is much more to life than getting it right, succeeding, growing, challenging yourself, experiencing only feelings of happiness and joy. There is also a dark underbelly that is sad, hurt, unsuccessful, stuck, doing-the-best-we-can-and-still-failing, hurting.
 
Tonight, I cried and let my children comfort me. They were amazing—compassionate, loving, sensitive, concerned. They were everything I would want my children to be with a friend in need.
 
I know some people believe in being strong, in holding it all together so kids don't know what is going on. But the truth is, they always know. Kids are masters at reading between the lines, at understanding what is meant when they do not yet understand the vocabulary, at interpreting meaning from tone and body language. Kids know.
 
So this morning, I am learning that my suffering is a teaching moment for my children. As I return to the sleeplessness of my bed, I go a little lighter, with a bit more clarity. I can't change the circumstances of my life right now. My grandfather is going to die (at 102, God bless him) and my best friend is going to move away.
 
I am choosing to teach my children how to deal with all of this. I am choosing to allow my children to show me compassion and love. I am choosing to let them see that this pain is temporary, and sometimes worth taking the time to experience fully. I am teaching them not to run away from intense emotions.
 
I am choosing to be human and let my humanness teach my children about life.

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This blog also appears as part of my regular column on ShareWiK.com.