""Sorrowful joy" sums up my feelings after last night. There is so much joy in celebrating and honoring our sons in what ever way we can. The joy of watching shells burst to their favorite music is, to me, awe inspiring. So much joy, so much beauty. It is, unfortunately, joy born of great sorrow. You are so right when you say love never dies but goes on forever. It is just so tough that there is so tight a connection between the joy and sorrow.
We have met so many wonderful people that we would not have "IF" things were the "old normal" and John and Beau were just a phone call away. But (yes, there is that cursed "but") we know that is not possible. All we "members of the club" can do is help each other in what ever way possible. Be it fireworks, beautiful prose, a supportive look, a hug or all of the above, it is what we must do so we are able to continue our lifelong journey of surviving and moving on." L. and V.
I think that we are born to bear both joy and sorrow, to recognize that each is on a level plane-that there is a balance there, a tight rope walk.
When one rises higher or lower- I misstep and fall. Beneath me is a net, held together by the strings of friendship- threads woven together by family, friends, kind strangers, strong words, kind gestures, hope, hugs and kisses and embraces- a tapestry that never frays, it's strength capable of catching me in my many tumbles, so resilient and strong, though ever expanding and flexible- it bounces me back up there, on that tight rope walk.
My joy and sorrow last week was like a lost sock in the washer, caught up in many blankets in the spin cycle, agitated, stretched, lost in the load. I was so weepy yet so thankful that once again my son's name would be on many tongues, his memory alive once again for many, not just me...I miss him. I miss hearing his name. I miss seeing the reactions of the faces when they recall the stories of Beau. I miss the laughter connected with those stories. I yearn for him, his story, his connection here...every moment of every day.
I stood below a thundering display Saturday night. I held my hands to my face- an act of awe and vulnerability that I tried to contain. I do not let others down easily, I do not like to affect anyone negatively- there is enough of that in this world. But I realized, as of a weepy Saturday morning...that I am not a pillar of strength, I am a mom, a human person with a great spirit that mostly soars. I am a person who often is humbled harder down, because I am (reluctantly) aware of the lowest of lows and so my highs are equal in their heights- it's hard to see the ground.
My friends, you have humbled me- gently, soothingly, lovingly- like a cannon ball, you came through the wall that sorrow has built and love secures with the mortar of memories...the one I could not climb, or go under or over...one must go through. Oh the wideness of the gap now...thank you, thank you. If you know not what you do...if all you do is out of that great love for John, it is more than enough sweet parents- that resilent ever increasing, never dying love. Scoop by scoop, we will move our mountains...