A Shift in Perspective

“What you see and what you hear depends a great deal on where you are standing. It also depends on what sort of person you are.” ~ C. S. Lewis

Wow. What a world we live in today. So much turmoil that everyone argues so loudly and stands so firmly on his or her own truth that no one is listening. It hurts me to watch all this madness and all the self righteousness. I have to tune out just to get a sense of normalcy. And I find myself thinking, "Kerry was the exact opposite of all this. So steady and kind, stern in his beliefs yet never starting big arguments to get them across. He'd hate all of this chaos."

I miss Kerry's gentleness. I miss his quiet way of moving around me and just handling the little things that needed to be done. He brought this sense of calm with him when he was near. (I know many of my faithful blog readers - all 3 of you - know what I'm talking about.) It may be a temperament achieved through raising girls, because I see it in a lot of the men who I term "girl daddies". But I even saw it in him when we first met. He was just so gentle, and his gentleness was what kept me on steady ground.

This month has been very loud. June is busy in our family because of birthdays, Father's Day, summer kicking off, and a bunch of other random things we always do this month. I guess my subconscious thought it was also the right time to get crazy with my house. I knew it was time to do some things I can see as mine and not ours. But I wasn't thinking about the fact it would happen the same month as so many big firsts.

Kitchen in progress!

As I mentioned last month, I decided to remodel the kitchen and paint the exterior brick. (There are a few other things on the horizon for later as well.) Clearly, I didn't consider the nervous energy these things bring along. People in and out of my house interrupting my newly created telework routine and the obstacles in the way of deadlines and promises have woven their way into my already stressed out brain.

Two out of the three big days (Father's Day, Gracey's birthday) proved to be a bit easier than we'd expected. The emotional build up to them was probably terrible for those around us, but the actual days were good. Tuesday will be a rough one though, because it would have been his 52nd birthday. (Also my actual due date for Gracey, but she joined us early.) Why does it make me so sad to think about his birthday? UGH. Probably because I know he'd be getting excited about riding his bike or getting his favorite meal to celebrate. Because I'd hear him chuckle at cards we gave him and read all the Facebook messages, commenting back with his sarcastic, silly replies.

But Tuesday will mark the end of a month that brought a lot of emotional ups and downs and make way for July, the month everything started going wrong. I think that's what is weighing on my heart so heavily. I know what's coming. The really awful firsts loom over me. The first 'anniversaries' of the hospitalizations, multiple diagnoses, ventilations, phone calls, feelings of helplessness. 

It all wells up inside me because I'm standing outside it now. I'm not swirling in the middle, taking notes and asking questions. I'm not using all the strength in my body to love him well and pray him back home. Now my perspective is looking back at all we endured for four months. I can tell you that it hurts worse when you look back this first year. I didn't have time to hurt when I was living it. Because I'm a fighter. I had my head down and gloves on. I wanted to win for him.

The other night we were eating dinner and a family's name came up. They lost a family member quite a while back in an accident, and we were wondering how they were doing. I turned to explain to someone else what happened, and I stopped right in my tracks. It hit me that our story is one of those stories now. Someone brings up one of our names, and another has to explain. Everyone has a story. I know that. But I guess I never felt my story, any part of the one I had before losing Kerry, was tragic. Maybe there were parts that were not good. Maybe some chapters of my life were worse than others. But I think I was pretty charmed in general. Life hadn't kicked me in the gut all that hard. I was able to be a strength and help to others with caring born from love without the wisdom of actual experience.

My favorite picture.

My perspective shifted a year ago. What I see and what I hear feels different, and the way I react within myself carries bigger meaning. Checking my emotions is the norm. Wanting people to come together and get along remains in the very top goals of each day. The people I spend time with are the ones I cherish. My little day-to-day conversations with those closest to me have even more importance. What I see and hear now has much more intention than it did a year ago. And, honestly, I think that's always how Kerry was when he lived. He was intentional. He cherished us. It's just who he was. It's not that I haven't had those qualities too, but now they are amplified. I feel them more deeply the way I think he probably did. 

I plan to cling to the idea that maybe I've been given the gift of a little bit of Kerry's essence. Maybe as we climb to the peak of the painful firsts, I'll see the beauty of all that lies below. The great things we've done this last year despite the pain and the sense of achievement in the survival can only bring happiness and peace going forward. I look forward to both.