Death....

My heart breaks for my Grandmother. And for the whole Grossman family. My Uncle Sam died in a car accident last week. This is the 2nd son my Grandmother has lost in less than 2 years. Both were untimely deaths (from an earthly perspective).

I miss both my Uncle Mark, and my Uncle Sam. I did not get enough time with them. I did not give enough hugs, nor say enough “I love you’s”. They lived in Minnesota, and I live in California. I only saw them each a handful of times over the years, and was a very young girl all but one of those visits. When I did visit my family in Minnesota, I must have been busy playing with cousins and doing outdoorsy, Grossman things. In hindsight, I did not take enough time to sit down with either of my uncles, who are now gone from this world forever. I very much wish I could turn back the clock, so that I could just hang out with them... and say all of those things I never had the opportunity to say... hear all of those things I never had the opportunity to hear. I wish I knew them better. I wish I was able to experience more family time with them. But those wishes are futile. Death has taken them, and opportunity has escaped me.

In my sadness over their death, I cannot even begin to imagine how it would feel to lose your own child. How my Grandmother must be aching! What a vast void she must feel. Her heart must be overwhelmed with the very worst kind of sorrow.

This causes my mind to turn to thoughts of “what-if".... What if I were to lose one or all of my beloved babies? My children are my whole world. They are my joy. Their spiritual, emotional and physical health and well-being are of utmost importance to me. God gave me the role of being their mother, and I am beyond blessed to have that opportunity. I have such an indescribable love in my heart for my children. ...The thought of losing one of them is enough to make me feel sick with despair. I cannot even fathom the thought. If I were to lose one of them, I am quite certain my heart would literally stop beating forever. My children are my most significant “purpose”. All of these thoughts grant me an earnest sense of empathy for Grandma Max. How my heart aches for her.... oh, the loss and devastation she must feel.

I lack maturity in my comprehension of death. I realize we are mortal, and I know that each of us will die at some point. But my sensitive heart cannot bear the concept of loss. I love. I love with extreme depth and intensity. Not being able to love someone I am very close to at heart ,due to their life being taken away; well, that is a challenge I have not yet been able to properly intellectually process.

Sometimes I wish I were more like other people. So many people I know have the ability to disallow themselves to become too close to another person, so as to thwart potential heartache or loss down the road. Some of those people I know have become so adept at throwing up those internal walls, that they are now actually incapable of comprehending or feeling real love. Nothing short of a miracle can soften a heart that is as hardened as that. Yes, those people feel less pain. Yes, I’d love to feel less pain too.... but at the expense of not feeling and experiencing love?? You know what, on second thought, I don’t want to be like those people. Knowing true joy, deep love and profound inner peace far outweighs the benefit those people have of getting to feel numb in the face of loss.

I am going to continue on my journey in this life, to be love, and to be a light in this dark and self-serving world. I am not going to stifle my heart. I am not going to deny my tears. I will remain the passionate and emotional being that I have been created to be. I will pray that God will somehow show me how to process feelings of grief in the wake of heartache and loss. I will try my best to come to grips with death. It will surely be a daunting task. God, give me wisdom.

I am praying for my Grandmother today, that God will give her wisdom as well. And emotional healing, understanding and a brimming peace that will swallow up her grief.