At Peace

"Life is a great sunrise. I do not see why death should not be an even greater one." 

-Vladimir Nabokov

My sweet friend, Grace, died last month.

It hurts me to say this, but it must be said. She took her own life.

Grace was a beautiful, powerful soul: 

Deeply compassionate.

Wise far beyond her 26 years.

Tender-hearted and kind. 

Passionate about sunsets, cookies, giggling with her girlfriends, loving her God.

Those of us who knew and loved her imagined that Grace had everything to live for. And so today at her memorial, the question that hung suspended in the air, misty and vaporous, swirling droplets of wondering that floated between and amongst us, her mourners, was, Why.

Why was she in so much pain?

Why didn't we see her anguish?

Why wasn't her faith, so strong and pure, enough to save her?

Why didn't she ask for help?

Why didn't she tell us that something was horribly, horribly wrong?

And while I won't pretend to know the particulars of Grace's situation, I think that deep in our hearts, we know the answer to our Whys:

Because sometimes, this life is just too much.

Sometimes people simply can't bear it up any more. 

Not because they are weak. No, no. 

Maybe because they are sensitive to life's challenges in ways that the rest of us are not. 

Maybe because their hearts are more fragile, more vulnerable, more prone to exhaustion.. 

Maybe because God is calling them home. 

What I know for sure, as I endure yet another suicide of a person I love, is that I won't torture myself with the Whys. 

What I know for sure is that sweet Grace is safe in God's loving arms.

I know that whatever her earthly struggles, she is finally at peace.

And so, then, am I.

* * * * * 

Grace was a poet. And this is one of her poems. It speaks to her beautiful, powerful soul and gives me peace.

* * * * * 

A Prayer for This Small Vapor (that is my life).

May I be transparent so that Light may shine through.

May I choose vulnerability even in the face of fear or humiliation,

To give courage and a voice to others.

To embrace my humanity and find it in others continually.

To be fully present and engaged, especially when I feel like running away.

To be consistently emptied in order to be a vessel

of goodness and truth and hope.

To always be a vine of my Belonging, to abide.

To live from abundance and my created order that is Enough.

To live in urgency of necessity, never frivolity*, manifested by an ever-present awareness

of this small and temporary state.

-

*My definition of frivolity: Worldly matters such as work, busyness and/or hurry, and money matters; people-pleasing; irrelevancy of my true purpose and belonging; illogical or impossible standards; perfectionism. In essence, things that don't matter. 

The Perfect Mom

^ Being a mom of littles is plenty full of challenges. But I won't kid ya. 

Parenting adults is not always a picnic either. All we can do is keep trying. 

Mamas, I want to talk with you. 

About something that I'm pretty sure I know about you. About me. About every single one of us. 

There are times - probably more than we'd like to admit - when as mothers,

we feel inadequate,

we feel like we've messed up, dropped the mothering ball, been less than our kids deserve,

we feel bad about ourselves. 

Right?

Me too. 

But when I find myself once again sinking deep down in that mire of self-condemnation, there's a voice that comes to me begging to differ. "You don't need to be a perfect mom. There's no such thing. Just do your best."

And that voice of wisdom and compassion and love encourages me to pick myself up, dust myself off, and go back to being the best mom I know how to be.

Not a perfect mom.

But the best mom I know how to be. 

And I remember this story. 

Dear mama, when you find yourself stuck in those moments of feeling like a horribly imperfect mom, I hope you will remember it too.

* * * * *

Her name was Shannon.

She lived across the street from me when our kids were young; her two boys the same ages as my two younger girls. Her husband was a good man who made his living on the Bering Sea, living that Deadliest Catch lifestyle for ten or eleven months of every year. During all those long, lonely times they were apart, Shannon was raising her sons as a single parent. 

And her little Vikings truly put her to the test. 

Shannon was gentle and kind: soft-spoken, tender-hearted, thoughtful and generous. 

Her boys were adorable wild things, perpetual motion machines who rough-housed and ran, sacked and plundered through every minute of the day. All boy, as the saying goes. 

And while she loved them dearly, Shannon's boys wore her out. 

She worried like she was not up to the task of raising them. 

She felt that she didn't understand how to be their mom. 

She wondered if she was the wrong mom for her sons. 

We talked about this often, Shannon and I. When we neighborhood moms gathered on the sidewalks or in a family room to chat while our kids played, Shannon and I often paired off, talking quietly together or walking home slowly to savor a few last moments of confidential conversation. And one day, Shannon told me this story.

She'd been on the phone with her mom, sharing her feelings of inadequacy, when her mom brought her up short. 

Shannon, these are your sons. God gave them to you and he doesn't make mistakes. So please, stop doubting yourself and just trust yourself to be their mother. You're not a perfect mom, but you're the right mom for them. 

To be honest, I think Shannon was a little shocked that her mother spoke to her so sharply. But when I asked her what she thought about the wisdom of her mom's words, Shannon simply said, "She's right."

I wish this story had a happier ending. 

Shannon soon began to ease the weight of her loneliness by drinking, and her life spiraled down into alcohol addiction, divorce, and losing custody of her boys. And just when it finally seemed that maybe she was turning a corner into lasting sobriety, she was cut down in a car crash and died instantly.

I still grieve for Shannon. I think of her often and I miss her dearly.

But I trust that she has watched from heaven as her boys have grown into gentle and kind men, soft-spoken and tender-hearted, thoughtful and generous. I figure that Shannon now truly believes that all along, she was indeed the right mom for her boys.

Not the perfect mom. But the right one all along.