Faithful Paradox

Raising five boys, there was never a loss of brotherly competition or rivalry in our home. There was always an effort between the boys to show who was king for the day. When my kids were young, this dynamic was especially present during times when one of the boys had the opportunity to shine. When one son was celebrated or recognized for an accomplishment or achievement, another son would often do something to draw attention to himself, as if to say, “Look at me. I’m just as important.”

In these moments, we would have corrective conversations with the son who was acting out. Simply because their brother had a moment to receive extra attention or recognition for something, it did not diminish their own value. These were beautiful, Gospel-opportunities where we got to remind our boys that their value is not found in, nor is our love for them based on, what they had or had not accomplished. We would then ask them to point their attentions toward another.

I have found in this ongoing journey after loss, I have to remind my heart of this same truth. When I am in a situation where we are celebrating, I tend to more acutely feel Ezra’s absence. Often in these celebrations, it seems as if grief screams, “Look at me! I’m just as important!” It has felt difficult to know how to both delight in and celebrate a joyful moment as I still hold the grief of missing my son. These celebrations often highlight the fact that he is gone. If I’m honest, the grief can tend to steal the joy or, in the very least, diminish its presence.

We celebrated Mother’s Day a few weeks ago and I found this battle very much at play. I want desperately for the sons I still have here with me to know that the death of their brother did not diminish the delight I have in them. Their lives are worth my fight for joy; even in the midst of sorrow. Yet at times, the sorrow is so much louder than the joy. I battled throughout the day to engage the love, sacrifice, and appreciation they poured out on me. Grief kept popping up, wanting my greatest attention, reminding me that a son I love is gone. The celebration my sons brought felt like it was in conflict with the sorrow battling for my affections.

Many times throughout the day the grief I still hold tried to steal the spotlight and draw attention to itself. I had to, in some ways, address my grief in the same way I used to quietly correct my boys:

“Grief – Today, you matter. All that you remind me of is important. The stories you tell of love and loss, they all matter. I hear you. I see you. Yet today, I want to ask you to celebrate this joy with me. It does not lessen your presence. It does not minimize the loss. Today, however, I want to ask that you point your attention toward another.”

I had to intentionally battle the sadness throughout the day. At times, I had to mute the feelings of pain, allowing my boys the delight of celebrating the mom God has given them. I instructed grief to point its attentions to another.

In these moments of celebration, it’s not that grief does not matter. It’s not a shoving down or ignoring the sorrow. Rather, much like talking with my boys when they were younger, it’s a gentle reminder to grief that it’s okay for others to shine. It’s okay for the joy to walk next to the grief. One does not minimize or erase the other. They can co-exist; share the spotlight. It does not mean grief is less valuable or minimize the story it tells. It does not lessen the loss. Allowing grief to give way to joy acknowledges there is more to life than the loss that occurred, despite the shadow that grief still brings. There is good and beauty still to be found; things worth celebrating even while the sorrow still endures.

I asked grief to step aside and allow another emotion to shine. It was not a switch I could flip on and off. I’m not very good at siloing things off. There was still a battle within my heart, yet it was worth fighting for the sake of my children and for the sake of learning the discipline of delight, even though pain still endures. And when the celebration passed and delight had its moment to shine, grief could once again to have my attention.