Remember the saying about how long it takes to get over a break up? What is it, something like divide the time you were together in two? So, if you were dating for a year, it should take about six months to get over the person.
Wouldn’t it be nice if life worked that way? Well, realistically, anyone who has been through a bad break up knows that these equations just don’t work.
What if we applied the same equation to a deployment? It should have taken three months for things to be back to normal after my wife got home, right? Not so much.
It’s funny, you know. People talk about the “new normal” after a deployment. Military families are taught about the adjustments and sacrifices that everyone makes during a deployment. We talk about how to make that “reintegration period” smoother.
Losing someone you love is painful.
Losing someone you struggled with is confusing.
Part of you is relieved they are gone.
Part of you thought you’d feel more free.
Part of you is still sad, lost without the tension between you.
Your relinquishment has been my biggest blessing.
Your very life has made my own shimmer
with joy, laughter, the words “my child…”
Adoptive mothers, like me, shout our love from the rooftops.
Adoptive fathers howl thanks.
We sing infinite gratitude,
placing it on lanterns that light up the whole city, the forest.
So it turns out after all those scary doctor visits, all I have is mono. At least my gut was right that it wasn’t anything malignant! That whole weeks’ long medical ordeal, in addition to my solo living and a five week sabbatical from Facebook, created space for me to ruminate about two things. The first thing is how do I make sure I always have health insurance? The second thing is thinking about life as a gift.
I have had always had a little trouble seeing life as a gift. It is perhaps my historical propensity to dwell on the negative aspects of my life that has prevented me from seeing life in all its brokenness and imperfection as a “gift.”
“I have heard it said that illness is an attempt to escape the truth. I suspect it is actually an attempt to embody the whole truth, to remember all of ourselves. For illness is not something that happens to us, like a sudden sneeze or a passing storm; it is a part of who we are all the time.”
—Kat Duff, The Alchemy of Illness
When we become ill, we discover what it means to be a human “being” as opposed to a human “doing.” There can be extraordinary guilt when we realize all the things we assume about ourselves when we are healthy are no longer true. Whether it is a temporary set-back (when recovery is likely) or a chronic condition (which can only be managed, not cured) illness challenges us to see ourselves in a new light and to accept our humanness.
“In the obituaries, they call the friends and family of the person who died the “survivors.” Surviving the suicide of a loved one is one of the most difficult things a person will do. But you will. You will survive.”
The most basic, fundamental decision any person makes is whether we will continue to live. We are so interconnected that when someone makes the choice to end their life it sends shock waves of pain through their community.
Along with dealing with their own pain and loss, the loved ones often have to deal with a society that believes in an eternal punishment for those who commit suicide. But to say that there will be further punishment for a person who was in such emotional or physical pain that the only way they could find to stop it was to end their life shows a lack of understanding about the profound love and compassion that course through the world.
We, the loved ones—the survivors—must seek out that love and compassion so that we may find our own healing.
“We hear all the time that it is blessed to give. Sometimes, though, we give a blessing when we allow ourselves to receive from others.”
Our Unitarian Universalist 7th principle tells us that we are not alone, that we are part of an interdependent web of existence. Our theology tells us that it is not enough to take care of our own lives, we are also called to build the beloved community through our relationships with others. Deservedly, we take pride in our willingness to reach out to others, to help someone in need.
These are noble ideas to which we aspire. Sometimes, though, we are faced with a different type of call—the call to receive the help and support of others.
When we are the ones who need help, it may feel like our worth and dignity are at stake. We mistakenly feel that to receive help is to lose our dignity. But allowing others to minister to us affirms the worth of all involved.
Sleep, my child and peace attend you, all through the night. I who love you shall be near you, all through the night. Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, hill and vale in slumber sleeping , I my loving vigil keeping, all through the night.
—Traditional Welsh Lullaby, Adapted by Alicia Carpenter
Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body.
—Elizabeth Stone
When your child or infant is in the hospital, ill or injured, you may feel like all of life’s “knowns” are turned upside down. Suddenly unmoored, you may be struggling to regain some control over your life as you seek to protect your child. You may be wondering how this could have happened or why?, wondering “What did we do to deserve this?” or “Where is God?”
You did nothing to deserve what is happening to you and your family. Your child did nothing to deserve the suffering he or she might be experiencing now.
That which we sow we shall reap:
when we sow our thoughts we reap our actions;
when we sow our actions we reap our habits;
when we sow our habits we reap our character;
when we sow our character we reap our destiny.
—Hindu proverb
Many of us have long since mastered the art of despair. Many of us have fallen into despair’s trance, memorized by thoughts of suicide.
In some religious circles, the act of killing oneself is a subject of great controversy. Some traditions use their power to shun and shame those who have committed suicide and have the audacity to condemn souls into further despair in the afterlife—as if they had such power. These demeaning beliefs are just as harmful as the religions that turn their back on those in this life. As Unitarian Universalists we seek to build a new way, based on acceptance and love.
“Like they tell you on the airplane: first, put on your own oxygen mask. Then, you’ll be able to put your child’s on them.”
Bad things happen to good people. We know this, but when something happens to a child, when they are diagnosed with a serious illness or condition, their illness also “happens” to their parents or caregivers. Caregivers often must put the rest of their lives on hold to attend to the sick child. But those of us in that role must also take care of ourselves so that we are strengthened to give that care.
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Quest for Meaning is a program of the Church of the Larger Fellowship (CLF).
As a Unitarian Universalist congregation with no geographical boundary, the CLF creates global spiritual community, rooted in profound love, which cultivates wonder, imagination, and the courage to act.