Today was a hard day with lots of up and down moments. I’ve just been feeling so off and weird, in ways I can’t express. I feel like I’m a huge mix of emotions all balled up into one, and I can’t seem to make sense of any of it.
Tom went on a run this morning and said he was reassured that Benny is happy. I wanted those feelings as well, since the morning was hard, so I decided to go on a walk. I had thought to go on a run, but we had other plans and I didn’t have time. A ten-minute walk was all there was time for, so I took it.
As I was out, I found myself talking to Benny. Praying for Benny. Hoping to feel Benny with me. Unfortunately I didn’t feel much beyond the sadness and despair. I found myself telling Benny that I wanted to be happy and I was sorry I was sad. Because I know he wouldn’t want me to be sad. I kept feeling emotions of wanting to move forward, but then not wanting to move forward because that took me further from him. If I move on, it will be moving on from him and I don’t want that. But, I don’t want to stay stuck in the sadness forever. But at times I almost appreciate the sadness and pain because it reminds me of him. It’s such a paradoxical mix of emotions that at times overtakes me. As I was going back and forth between the emotions, I realized much of it boiled down to one main thing, and I found myself saying it to my sweet boy out loud: “Benny, if I’m happy, I feel like I’ve lost you.”
It was then that it really hit me — I fear happiness because I fear losing my connection with Benny. I’m afraid. The root of so much of what I’m feeling with all this is fear. I find myself afraid of so many things these days. Afraid I will move on too quickly and somehow forget Benny. Afraid I’ll never be able to cope with this and move on. Afraid people will always view our family as “those people” who lost our boy. Afraid others will forget Benny as their lives move on. Afraid something will happen to Isaac or Zoey. Afraid I won’t be the mother they need. Afraid this will somehow impact my relationship with Tom. Afraid I’m not strong enough to handle all this. Afraid I’m too strong and won’t allow myself the space I need to process things. Afraid I don’t know what I’m supposed to process. Afraid all these extreme and conflicting emotions can’t all exist within my heart and mind. Just afraid. And most of all afraid of somehow losing Benny all over again in my memory and heart.
I’m not sure what I’m “supposed to” feel right now. Thankfully I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way to grieve. You just have to grieve. But as someone who likes planning and logic, I feel an added sense of unease and discomfort with all of this. I want someone to just tell me how to feel “better” so I can feel better. But at the same time, I don’t want anyone to tell me how to make it all “better” because it never really will be better and taking away the pain will take away my connection with my sweet boy.
As I was trying to process all these thoughts and feelings, and recognizing that my biggest fear is that happiness and mourning can’t co-exist, I realized that Benny would want me to be happy. He was the happiest and sweetest little boy. He doesn’t want me to forget him, but he doesn’t want me to remain in mourning forever. My angel boy would want me to figure out a way to always remember him and be happy — somehow at the same time.
Impossible, I thought. There’s no way I can be happy and remember my sweet boy, because remembering him makes me sad he’s no longer here. Two opposites can’t co-exist. And then I noticed a really pretty flower. And a hummingbird. And somehow it all started to make a little more sense.
As I stepped closer to the flower, I noticed that the bush was incredibly thorny. Thankfully I didn’t get too close! I love flowers. Our home has been bursting with flowers thanks to the goodness of others since Benny passed away, and I’ve missed them being away from home. The property where we’re staying has beautiful flowers all over, so I was grateful to be able to stop for a minute on my walk and “smell the roses” as they say (even though they weren’t actually roses). But, they were thorny. How could they look and smell so beautiful but still be full of thorns? Somehow the blossoms and thorns were co-existing.
Then I noticed the hummingbird. It was furiously flying next to another plant with bell-shaped flowers, while it very precisely and delicately harvested the nectar from the tiny flowers with its beak. Somehow the flurry and the fragility of the hummingbird were co-existing.
Just as the flurry of the hummingbird’s wings didn’t detract from its ability to accurately and flawlessly access the nectar from the tiny flower, and just as the thorns of the bush didn’t detract from the beauty and scent of the flower, my happiness doesn’t have to detract from my memories of Benny. They can co-exist. I can somehow feel both in my heart. I can be happy and remember my boy. And the Lord was trying to teach me that today as I walked with Benny.
It was then that I realized just how many important and powerful principles our loving Lord teaches us through nature. And how my sweet Benny was helping me pay more attention. And how by taking regular walks with Benny and recording my thoughts, maybe I can start to heal from this unexpected and heart-shattering experience.
I’m still not sure how it will all work out. It’s been one week since we laid our little boy to rest and I’m still afraid. But, what I know is that my hope increased today as I paid attention to the things I felt my Benny helped me see as we walked together. I feel relieved to have some reassurance that the conflicting emotions I’m feeling can somehow co-exist. I’m grateful to feel guided in a direction that will help me heal (walking and writing). In a weird way I’m grateful for the pain, because it reflects how deeply I loved and now miss my sweet boy. But I’m grateful to have been reminded today that by moving forward and being happy, that doesn’t have to detract from that love. And because of that love and the hope I felt walking with my Benny, I feel the fear a little less. The pain a little less. And the sweetness of my boy a little more. The love of the Lord a little more. The happiness of my angel a little more. His happiness. My happiness. Our happiness. Walking with my sweet Benny.