We were the closest family possible. Our world was turned upside down on 05/03/09 when my best friend, the person I love most next only to our children, my sister Trina was diagnosed with stage IV breast cancer. Her body gave out on her on 01/09/10 but she will ALWAYS be a part of our daily life and will continue to be in my posts. I started my blog to chronicle our daughter's international adoption from Guatemala and have continued to use it as a journal.

What you will find is my family trying to adapt to our new lives that were handed to us.



Friday, June 05, 2015

Perspective


I had a hell of a day yesterday. I was feeling sorry for myself because Asa threw up in my car and I had to clean it out. Normally Beya helps (does it) me out with vomit because I have such an aversion to vomit. I sat down after I cleaned my car and opened People.com to these photos of Joe Biden grieving his son Beau. 






I was instantly put in my place and was unbelievably grateful that vomit in my car was my "problem" of the day.

I was instantly thankful for not feeling like Joe Biden is right now every second of every day.

I was also instantly brought back to when Trina first died. This photo especially brought it home:


The hearse is what did it for me. I'll never forget being at the cemetery for Trina's service when I saw a hearse pull up. My heart instantly dropped and I felt horrible for the poor grieving family that the hearse was there for. It never crossed my mind for several seconds that WE were the poor grieving family the hearse was there for.

Grief is intense. Grief is physically painful. Grief is undeniable. Grief is something that you cannot imagine until you are thrust into the never ending trip that is the loss of someone that you love more than yourself.

My heart aches for Joe Biden and his family. No parent should have to bury one child much less two.

"Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good."

-- W.H. Auden

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