This isn’t what I planned to write.
I’ve got an unpublished book (or a BUNCH of word documents that amount to about 60,000 words, book sounds more dignified). An entire chapter is about grief and transitions. I liken grief to fertilizer for the soul and had planned to share an excerpt today.
But I cannot shake the feeling THIS post is what I am to share today. I’ve tried to ignore it because it would be easier to cut and paste, truth be told. Emily Freeman says to “Listen to your tears,” so here we are.
Suffering and sorrow aren’t games. Games have clear rules and times allotted and even rankings (if you’re talking sports).
When it comes to suffering, one of the cardinal rules drilled into us as counseling students was suffering is in the eye of the beholder. If someone is brutally attacked and yet they get over it quickly, truly get over it, believe them. If another person is “barely attacked” yet devastated by it, believe them.
Don’t try to rank. Don’t say X > Y. Suffering is not a math equation, it is an experience.
And this is why I’m a bit reluctant to write today, because what I consider to be suffering might appear silly to you. This week at Velvet Ashes some obvious suffering has been shared and it’s tempting to compare what I’m going to share to what has been shared and down play it.
I won’t get to watch the Broncos win a Super Bowl with my dad. The Broncos have been to seven Super Bowls – five while I was in the U.S. and two when I lived in Asia. We lost five times and won twice.
I know and understand living overseas came with a call and a cost. Many costs really (and many blessings). This is one of them.
So, when the Broncos win their next Super Bowl, and they will!, it will be bittersweet for me. I will be excited and happy and rejoice. But I will also think of the last Super Bowl they were in and how it found me sitting by my dad’s hospital bed as he faded, not really able to enjoy the game. How the food he ate, prepared by my sister, was the last food he ever truly ate (pulled pork and popcorn). How during the half time we turned the TV off to begin the goodbye process for his life and to bless and thank him for the man he was.
And how one of the secret dreams of my heart will never be.
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