My Year of Grief and Gratitude

A couple weeks after our son passed away I bought a wooden sign that now hangs over my kitchen sink. It reminds me every day that even though we suffered shattering heartbreak, we still have much.

It reminds me that in the tragic realm of losing one’s child, we were extraordinarily fortunate. After his diagnosis of Stage IV cancer, we still had months and months to converse with Carey. To go out to dinner. To watch movies. Cheer the Cubs. Boo the Cardinals. Have family reunions. To laugh. To hug. To cry. Hug some more.  To have long soft talks in the middle of the night. And then finally, with everything spoken that could be spoken, to peacefully say good-bye. 

The sign above my sink reminds me of the onrush of family and friends who, with zero hesitation, stood close during two years of shadow and chaos.

That our strong and loving son Cody is only an hour down the road, healthy and in love.

That our amazing daughter-in-law welcomes us with open arms and keeps a big comfy bed waiting for us in her sweet North Carolina home.

That when our grandsons visit they ask for Play-doh as soon as they bound across the threshold.

It reminds me that my grief and gratitude are not mutually exclusive, but two sides of the same coin.

And now, as this first year without Carey comes to a close, I’m grateful that some of the very last words I whispered in his ear, were the same ones I whispered 28 years earlier when the nurse first laid him in my arms: Momma loves you.

There’s no denying the wretchedness of watching your loved one’s life slip away. But, try as I might, I can’t fix that. I can’t undo it. What I’m left with then, is the ability to be grateful for and appreciate what once was and what still is. And what I hope to keep: a thankful heart.