Can I Just Be Sad?

Hi Caleb,

I don't think you're sad...but I am. 

Sadness is an interesting emotion. I have experienced sadness throughout my life, but rarely have I chosen to live in sadness. I think I have long equated living in sadness with becoming a victim, and I have always wanted my life to stand for the opposite of victim hood - a life of creating, building, choosing, becoming.

But lately I’ve been sad. Not just passing moments of sadness, but seasons of it. Sometimes I wake up and it is already sitting beside me. Sometimes it follows me through the day quietly, like a shadow I cannot outrun.

And what has surprised me most is the fact that I am still creating.

I still love people deeply.
I still make meals, write words, grow things, solve problems, comfort others, laugh unexpectedly, make plans for tomorrow, and run my businesses.
I still notice beauty.
I still contribute.
I still choose.

I'm learning that sadness is not the same thing as defeat.

Lately I've cried a lot of tears in my quiet moments, and it feels so good to let the emotion wash over me, through me, and just feel sad sometimes.  I'm learning to sit with that emotion, and try to understand it, rather than avoid it.

After you passed through the veil, I received 2 unique gifts that were beautiful and wonderful from good friends, but not fully valued by me until this latest wave of grief.

My good friend Amy, who knew you when you were young and full of energy (wait, that never really changed) sent a Lachrymatory, or TEAR BOTTLE, for each one of us.  I had never heard of such a jar. During the time of Jesus they were popular to collect tears during times of great emotion like joy, sorrow, or repentance.  

The bottle is a reminder that, not only are our tears recorded, but that the Savior came and will come again to "wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away." (Revelations 20:4)

I've now used my jar to collect a few of my tears. They are stored as a memory of my love for you, and my mortal healing journey.  They bring comfort to me in this earthly experience.  Someday the tears I cry for you will be ones of happiness when I see you again. 

Our good friend, Traci wrote a song literally days after you passed away.  She mentored you in your singing, and though you likely drove her crazy a few times, I think she had a soft spot in her heart for you (and your antics).  As I listened to the song initially I just wanted to cry more, so I think I avoided it for a while.  

On April 3, when you had been gone for 3 months, and these waves of sadness started to hit, I pulled up her song again, and let the beautiful sadness wash over me. It's been so healing.  I added a few pictures to go with the music.

 

Even Jesus cried when Lazarus died. He knew hope was coming, yet He still allowed Himself to mourn. The presence of hope did not cancel the validity of sorrow. I'm so grateful for my friends and family who have cried and sorrowed with me. 

Maybe the act of feeling the sorrow deeply will heal me in ways I can't imagine yet. And maybe at the same time, the act of creating will become the evidence that sorrow has not won.

A garden planted by grieving hands is still a garden.
A meal cooked by a hurting mother still nourishes.
A kind word spoken through tears still heals.
A life can hold heartbreak and purpose at the same time.

Caleb, there were times that you felt sad and defeated.  I love that you came to me during some of those hard times in your life. We would talk, and sometimes cry together.  But you would never live in your sadness.  Your ability to see the good in the world has taught me so much. 

Here's a picture of the day you "graduated" from preschool, exactly 17 years ago today. I can't get over the cuteness!

I know you wouldn't want me to feel such sadness, but please allow your mother a little grace - a little human-ness. Because I feel through this sadness that I'm being taught by the Lord. Stretched. Humbled. Refined. I'm trying to let the pain of this existence literally change me for the better.

Wish me luck! Can I get a thumbs-up? No - a hug!

Love,

Mom