Whoever came up with the phrase “sticks and stones can break my bones, but words will never hurt me” was a big fat liar. Words can hurt. Especially when they are said in pure spite and anger. When they are in black and white – staring you in the face. Unchanging and forever “just there.”
I’m not going to lie and say that words don’t hurt. I’m one of those people who wants people to like me. I don’t want to have enemies. Faced with some against me, I’ve been encouraged to take the high road, to not acknowledge that which is said in hate. Don’t let her get to you. She’s obviously just angry, a hurting soul, and dealing with her own feelings. I still think that everyone is entitled to their own opinions and thoughts. But what strikes a chord the most is being called out on what I am most afraid of being – wrong or not right. Disgusting. I shouldn’t be happy. Mourning is sad and dark. Why am I celebrating life? Why do I laugh and play? I don’t question why God has forsaken me. I don’t believe that He has. I DO question if I am fulfilling His plan for me. I DO fear that I’m not making Him proud.
I don’t think that God wants me to be miserable. What parent wants their children to be sad and distraught? Owen has been a terrible loss – hurting to the core. I am forever changed and will always look at the world through different eyes. It doesn’t change the fact that I am still on earth. I still have three other living and breathing children who look to me for food, comfort and care. I have no choice but to get up in the morning and hug and kiss my kids. There are a days when I want to draw the curtains closed and forget that I am a mom and just be me. Mel. As a mother, I don’t come first anymore. My desires are secondary to diapers, bottles, bus stops and dishes. I look at the hugs and cuddles as a job perk. Savoring every smile and giggle reminds me of the small joys in life that are gifts to us.
Yes I lost a child. Yes Owen has died. Yes losing a child is a deep pain that NEVER goes away completely. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to still enjoy life. It doesn’t mean that I can’t smile. My living sons look to me as a teacher. My actions will teach them how to respond to their own grief. Owen doesn’t need me as a teacher anymore. He is with the teacher Himself.
I am a mother of a warrior. We fight on.