Finding My Humanity
Today was a difficult day. This past weekend, we lost a very dear friend and today was her funeral. She was such a wonderful, generous, loving person. My life is truly better for having known her and I am saddened that Lil' Bit will only ever hear stories about her. Her funeral was beautiful, but it was difficult. Difficult in a way most people don't have to experience. Difficult because my spouse was the officiant. Difficult because I had to grieve by myself. This is not to say I was alone. I was surrounded by friends and one of them placed a loving hand on my back during the most emotional parts. But even she had her spouse with her, whose hand she could hold, and who could comfort her in a way no one else could.
Looking around, I saw most of my married friends being comforted by their spouses and, in that moment, I felt envy. Envy the depths of which I had not felt since I had to watch friends become pregnant while I struggled with infertility. I did not begrudge them their comfort. I just wished that I could have a spouse with a "regular" job, so he could sit there with me. But as I sat in my grief for my friend, it occurred to me that if I had a spouse with a "regular" job, we would have never ended up here. And I would never have met her. It also dawned on me that there was at least one other person in that room missing the presence of their spouse, only their spouse would not be there to comfort them at the end of the service, or the end of the day, or ever again.
And I cried. I cried in thanks for the blessings I had. I cried at the injustice of the world losing such an amazing person. I cried because I realized that I had things other people would envy. And I cried at the humanness of my envy, of my self-centeredness at a time when I should have been thinking of my friends, of my guilt over having felt envy and self-centeredness, and of my joy at recognizing my blessings. To quote Doctor Who, "Crying when you're happy-that is so human." Today, of all days, my friend gave me another gift; she helped me see my humanity.
Thanks for everything, Connie. You are loved and missed. Someday, we'll understand.
Looking around, I saw most of my married friends being comforted by their spouses and, in that moment, I felt envy. Envy the depths of which I had not felt since I had to watch friends become pregnant while I struggled with infertility. I did not begrudge them their comfort. I just wished that I could have a spouse with a "regular" job, so he could sit there with me. But as I sat in my grief for my friend, it occurred to me that if I had a spouse with a "regular" job, we would have never ended up here. And I would never have met her. It also dawned on me that there was at least one other person in that room missing the presence of their spouse, only their spouse would not be there to comfort them at the end of the service, or the end of the day, or ever again.
And I cried. I cried in thanks for the blessings I had. I cried at the injustice of the world losing such an amazing person. I cried because I realized that I had things other people would envy. And I cried at the humanness of my envy, of my self-centeredness at a time when I should have been thinking of my friends, of my guilt over having felt envy and self-centeredness, and of my joy at recognizing my blessings. To quote Doctor Who, "Crying when you're happy-that is so human." Today, of all days, my friend gave me another gift; she helped me see my humanity.
Thanks for everything, Connie. You are loved and missed. Someday, we'll understand.