Mental Gymnastics

On the drive home I told mom, “I guess this is my life now.”

As a swift summer winds down, we traveled to Atlantic Beach, North Carolina for a few days. We walked along the beach as the sun gracefully whispered “your turn” to a grateful moon. I frolicked in the ocean with my teenage son, Nathan, and for a little while we were both children again diving into the waves and laughing as they tossed us back to shore. A dinner at Amos Mosquitos left us in awe of the culinary genius at a restaurant where every dish was superb and every bite savored. We visited the Pine Knolls Aquarium, delighting at the otters, jellyfish, and sharks. At night we lay in our hotel beds watching movies and eating Dairy Queen Blizzards.

The trip had an equal balance of excitement and relaxation. It was a beautiful way to bid adieu to summer.

And yet Wesley’s absence was with me. It tapped me on the shoulder in the aquarium, reminding me how he signed “fish” and loved frogs. It smacked me with a wave, realizing he should have been sitting in his wheelchair at the ocean’s edge, signing “waves” and laughing as the water tickled his toes.

The mental gymnastics required to create new memories after child loss take a soul strength I am still acquiring.

How does one create meaningful new memories when a beloved child is no longer here? How long will every new memory have a sigh at the end?  How often will joy-filled moments be tainted by Grief’s hand?

I suppose always.

I am eagerly compliant in my attempt to learn mental gymnastics in order to honor my children who remain, my husband who need not lose me as well, my mother who still has years to go, and Wesley who lived abundantly.

A friend once advised me to “live in a way that honors him.” So, I endure learning mental gymnastics and aching spiritual muscles. The need for such a skill was only ever entertained during the imagining of my worst nightmare from ICU rooms in the quiet of chaotic nights. Then, our last ICU room ended with me awakening to the very nightmare I desperately begged God to allow to pass over me.

I do not know why He said no. I do know He is still good.

I must forge a new skill of finding joy even while my heart is still so very obliterated. It honors my sweet boy to smile, laugh, and create new memories in spite of all I have lost. His life mattered and matters still.

So, I twist in unnatural ways. I leap over hurdles. I swing hoping to catch the bar I just let go of.

I bend but I do not break.

Gratitude and grief can and must coexist. Bitter and sweet balance equally now but I hold to hope that someday the bitter will weigh less than the sweet. I do not fool myself to believe it will ever disappear.

Grief simply will not allow it.