A Recipe for Healing

Directions:
Be creative. Trust your instincts. Cry when you want to, laugh when you can. Choose the size pot that fits your loss. Season with memories; stir often.
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Tuesday, April 13, 2010

The Year of Magical Thinking.

"Life changes fast. Life changes in the instant. You sit down to dinner and life as you know it ends."

This is the first sentence in Joan Didion's "The Year of Magical Thinking." Joan is a novelist that writes about the first year of her husband's instant death, after he has a heart attack. Ironically, I had read her book several years ago, but I recently reread it, of course now with a completley different perspective.

I've tried about 50 times this past week to sit down, reflect, and write about this year. But somehow I just haven't been able to do it. I think it's because this year has been something far beyond words. It forced me to wrap my mind around death. It took my previous standards for life and threw them out the door. It ripped from me something I loved and cherished, and shoved me instead into a world of confusion and loss.

But these things I can say with confidence from this year. I've learned them from Micah, in both his life and death:

1) Life is fragile. It is short. Accidents happen, dreams break easily, loss is inevitable.

2) You've got to make the most of life, because it is short. You've got to fill it with things you love, things that you can say, "No Regrets" to. You've got to relax and laugh at the top of your lungs and take risks. You've got to cherish those around you, and welcome them with bear hugs and surprise gifts. You've got to praise God, or whatever keeps you grateful and going. You've got to find the perfect balance of living for others, with compassion; but also living for yourself, with forgiveness.

3) In the darkest of darks, there somehow always seems to be a distant glow of hope. For me, it has been the support of my community; and for the bond I've found with Micah's family. The trick is to learn to keep the glow at a close enough distance to let it light your future; even though it may often look dark.

Micah died. Yet Micah also lived. I'm slowly learning to incorporate the first, but hold tightly onto the second.

Maybe Joan's words will only ever give it justice. It has, indeed, been The Year of Magical Thinking.

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