It is the scariest thing in the world to know you have everything you could ever want. Because one day, something will go away; something will come; something will change.
I never quite know what to say when my daughter cheers at the sight of the ambulance or the fire truck. DO NOT mistake me: these emergency responders are heroes. But their presence leads me to believe the obvious: someone is in trouble. And I am fully aware that my blessings are so great that I should only expect that one day, a call to me will be made to say that that ambulance is helping someone important to me.
And why is it that I have an uncomfortable tickle in my gut whenever Tim is 10 minutes late? I am not a worry wart. But I do, to some extent, prepare myself for something that only seems natural for someone who has everything anyone could want: loss. It makes sense: if your sum total is 100, and that is the maximum sum possible, the only direction is down - a loss.
For the most part, it keeps me grounded, humble and responsive. This feeling reminds me to allow Kenzie to shove in every single caloric French fry in my mouth, at the expense of my hip measurement. It encourages me to spend 30 minutes putting Samara to bed when it is really only a ten minute process. This feeling tells me that I have everything; be not only thankful, but prepared.
And there is nothing more to say. No conclusion; no solution. I know God will only give me as much as I can handle and I truly do not know how I will handle the loss that is inevitable. Images flash of the cries that will tear my body apart upon the loss of my husband, children, parents or sisters. And I suppose the loss that occurs in only the natural way - death brought on by age - will maybe be less painful but the pain will still be there: ripe and raw.
No comments:
Post a Comment