Forward

Sometimes I feel so ashamed of myself for doing exactly what I feel is right to do. I've spent the last 15 months trudging forward towards tomorrow with the firm goal in mind of learning to live again, yet I feel guilt for starting to accomplish just that. Despite the fact Josh wouldn't have wanted the rest of us to quit living, there is a part of me that feels I should have crawled into a hole of sorrow and regrets and never have emerged again.

Does it make me a bad mother for wanting to honor his life with life? I read about other mothers and how they have ceased to function and wonder if I didn't love him enough. Yet I can't imagine loving him more. No one knows what is in my heart, for if they did they would know I would die in an instant if it would bring him back. I would never laugh again if I could have another day. I would cry each and every moment for the rest of my life if I could see his smile or touch him for just a milisecond. I would walk naked down the street and give up all my worldly possessions if it would change anything. But the fact remains.... it won't change a thing.

The tears still come, the sorrow remains. I strain against the bonds of grief each and every moment of each and every day. But always with the knowledge that the only way for him to truly live inside me is to put something good back into the world. I can't alleviate my own  pain, but perhaps I can make someone else's just a little bit less overwhelming. Josh would have wanted it that way.

For all his faults, he was the first one to drop every thing to help someone. It was one of the things I loved the most about him. One of the many things.

One day at work I let a little boy use my scanner to help check out his grandmother, who was with him. She proceeded to go on and on about how kind I was, which surprised me since I didn't think anything of it.

"That was just so kind of you! It made his day! He'll be smiling for the rest of the day." She said.

"It was no big deal, really. "

"No really, it was so very kind. Not too many people would have taken the time."

"Ah well, I've learned life isn't a dress rehearsal" I replied, thinking of Josh.

With a look of understanding, she said, " I've been trying to learn that myself. But it seems you've already got it."

With a sad smile I told her," Yeah, maybe, but I learned it the hard way".

With a look of astonishment, she proceeded to dig in her purse, saying, " It's so funny you should say that, just this morning I read this, and I made a copy of it. It talks about just that, how kindess is tied to loss".

She pulled a piece of paper from her purse and handed it to me, then gathered her purchases and her grandson up and headed for the door. I hurriedly stuffed the piece of paper in my apron pocket and got on with my job and the next customer in line.

It was quite some time before things slowed down enough for me to read what she had given me and when I did I had to walk outside and around the corner of the building so I could have a good cry. Right at that moment I knew I had it right. Maybe not always, but certainly heading in the right direction.

This is the poem she handed me...

Kindness

Before you know what kindness really is
you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment
like salt in a weakened broth.
What you held in your hand,
what you counted and carefully saved,
all this must go so you know
how desolate the landscape can be
between the regions of kindness.
How you ride and ride
thinking the bus will never stop,
the passengers eating maize and chicken
will stare out the window forever.

Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness,
you must travel where the
Indian in a white poncho lies dead
by the side of the road.
You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone who journeyed through the night
with plans and the simple breath
that kept him alive.

Before you know kindness
as the deepest thing inside,
you must know sorrow
as the other deepest thing.
You must wake up with sorrow.
You must speak to it till your voice
catches the thread of all sorrows
and you see the size of the cloth.
Then it is only kindness
that makes sense anymore,
only kindness that ties your shoes
and sends you out into the day
to mail letters and purchase bread,
only kindness that raises its head
from the crowd of the world to say
it is I you have been looking for,
and then goes with you every where
like a shadow or a friend.

Naomi Shihab Nye (1953-)

I knew then I was definitely heading in the right direction and if no one else understood, then they didn't know Josh. Living life is the truest honor I can pay his memory, for despite his death, I don't know if I've ever known someone so very very very alive.
 
Wherever you are my son, know I love you. Know I remember you. Know I strive to be more like you.