The Fire Inside

"Even the darkest night with end, and the sun will rise." ~ Les Miserables

Today I was sitting in the quiet of a car wash, of all places, and had a burst of self reflection. Prone to be in my head more than not these days, I think most of the time it's running scenarios and overthinking things. But today, amidst the colorful bubbles and mindless movement of my car, I realized that the fire our family has walked through the last 18 months or so has cleansed and refined who I am more than any other time in my life.

So often I've told friends that once you experience trauma, things aren't the same. I'm sure any therapist would say the same thing. And I'm not saying I haven't had trauma before Kerry's death. But trauma that tears you to the core of your being is... well... different. At least it has been different for me. Everything else pales in comparison. This one dulled the feelings about any of the rest.

While I've stood on my soapbox and preached about bravery, there's been a steady flame slowly burning my edges, making me softer on the outside. (That is not a fat joke....let's not talk about how soft I am physically!) 

I find that my reactions are softer; my anger is slower; and my general temperament is calmer. There isn't that quickness about things that used to be indicative of me. For a while, I thought it was because every movement I made felt like moving through water - some resistance that kept me from my normal speedy response. There's less sense of urgency about me; and, while it may have been grief that dulled me for a time, I don't believe that it was really the feeling of water. It was fire getting rid of some of the rough spots. (I can still offer up a zinger or two if pushed. Don't test me!)

In the meantime, that same fire has forged a strength inside that has kept me brave. I might react slower and walk softly, but I am tougher than I ever thought possible. If you are reading this and have known me a long time, I'm sure you would say I've always been tough. I didn't lead a charmed childhood and have earned what I have. I love my family, and I have never once sat around blaming others for my misfortune. (Well, I've been pretty "judgy" of God lately, but that really belongs in another blog post. And I think I get to do that for a bit. He gets it. He saw it coming.)

The refiner's fire has given me unexpected strength. I haven't fallen completely apart. I didn't take my last breath when Kerry took his. I didn't walk away from life and give up. So much of that has to do with my tribe. Those who prop me up daily and let me be vulnerable. Those who answer an "I need you." or a "What are you doing? Can you please....?" without hesitation - and those who let me cry and complain when it all becomes too much. 

The rest of it came from sheer determination to get to the other side. To walk through the fire, coming out on the other side strong enough to show my kids that it's possible. That it's not being fortunate enough to miss the storm, but how you weather it. (I know I changed metaphors. Sorry.)

My newly found tough interior hasn't negated the new reality that I need people to be gentle with me sometimes. So do my kids. We need that hug or that calm understanding. We need to know we can tear up about something and not see the "feeling sorry" look in return. Hurt with us; laugh with us; be gentle with us. I guess it's part of the soft exterior. You'll see more soft responses and fewer angry ones. I know....such a dichotomy. And we are thankful for the patience around us!

My love is stronger and fiercer than before. I hold on tighter and fight harder for my people. And I'm definitely not afraid to make sure to tell them I love them. I'm trying to seize new opportunities and not sit still waiting to see what comes my way.

But, most of all, I'm realizing that the fire is now within in me. I might still be walking through it, but I own it too. I am better for it: softer and stronger.