Love Holds Both

 

The past several weeks have reminded me just how fragile life can be.

Our community has been shaken by devastating tragedies. Families are grieving the loss of their children. Friends are facing heartbreaking uncertainty. Others are sitting beside hospital beds waiting and hoping for good news.

The pain feels close.

It feels personal.

At the same time, I am here in another city with our youngest daughter, as she prepares to welcome her first child into the world. Her husband is deployed far away serving our country, and I am grateful to be here helping her prepare for the arrival of baby Avi, our second grandson.

And if I'm honest, I have found myself struggling with the contrast.

Part of my heart is celebrating.

Part of my heart is grieving.

I have found myself wondering how to hold both.

How do I celebrate a new life while others are mourning devastating losses?

How do I post pictures of swimming, family gatherings, and baby preparations when people I love are living through some of the hardest days of their lives?

As I sat with those questions, I realized this isn't the first time life has asked me to hold joy and sorrow at the same time.

Years after my cousin Kathy was murdered, I was still carrying anger, regret, and unanswered questions. My sponsor, Laura, suggested a forgiveness study and invited several of us to participate.

Each of us came carrying something.

Different losses.

Different regrets.

Different wounds.

Some of us were learning to forgive others.

Some of us were learning to forgive ourselves.

Most of us were doing both.

For more than a year, we read together, reflected together, prayed together, and learned together.

The work wasn't about forgetting.

It wasn't about excusing.

It was about healing.

The work did not change the past.

It changed us.

Years later, while waiting at John Muir Trauma Hospital as doctors fought to save Matt's life, I remember looking at Laura and saying, "Now I know why we were doing all this forgiveness work."

In that moment, I understood that the spiritual principles we had been practicing—faith, forgiveness, acceptance, compassion, and love—would become the very things I needed to survive.

The grief didn't disappear.

The heartbreak didn't end.

But I learned something that continues to guide me today.

Love holds both.

It holds grief and gratitude.

Heartbreak and hope.

Loss and new beginnings.

Perhaps that is why these recent events have touched me so deeply.

The people who once sat beside me in waiting rooms, prayed with me, cried with me, and helped carry me through my darkest moments are now facing challenges of their own.

I cannot take away their pain.

I cannot fix what is broken.

But I can do what others once did for me.

I can show up.

I can listen.

I can pray.

I can love them through it.

As I wait for Avi's arrival, my heart is celebrating with one family while aching alongside others.

Today, I am learning once again that grief and gratitude are not opposites.

They can exist in the same heart.

Perhaps healing is not about choosing one over the other.

Perhaps healing is staying connected—to God, to one another, and to love—even when life asks us to carry both.

The Blink of a Lifetime

 

Again, I find myself writing about how quickly life is moving.

When I was younger, I remember hearing older people talk about how fast the years go by. They would say, "Just wait. One day you'll understand." I would smile and nod, but honestly, I didn't get it.

Now, at 59 years old, I understand exactly what they meant.

Life doesn't simply move—it races.

The minutes become hours. The hours become days. The days become weeks. The weeks become years. Before we know it, entire chapters of our lives are tucked behind us, waiting to be remembered.

I often find myself wishing there were more hours in a day. There are so many things I want to do, need to do, and hope to accomplish. Yet today, I was reminded that peace often comes from simply doing the things that matter most.

This morning was beautifully ordinary. Raymond and I walked our usual two miles. I finished catching up on my gratitude summaries and completed my ten-minute arm workout on YouTube. Small acts. Simple commitments. Yet these are the moments that ground me. They remind me that fulfillment is often found in following through on the daily habits that bring me peace and a sense of accomplishment.

Later, I talked with Briana and exchanged texts with TeaRae. As I reflected on our conversations, it hit me that tomorrow my youngest daughter will turn thirty-three years old.

Thirty-three.

How is that even possible?

It feels like only yesterday I was holding her in my arms, memorizing every detail of her tiny face. Now she is more than thirty-six weeks pregnant with her first child.

Our baby is having a baby.

Life has come full circle once again.

Briana & William gave us Ansel, my first grandchild, who is now eight years old. We have also been blessed with Joseph and Camryn, Colin's children, who became our bonus grandchildren and have brought so much joy into our lives. Watching TeaRae love them, nurture them, and help raise them has been a blessing. She has such a tender heart, and I know she is going to be an amazing mother.

As I think about my children, gratitude overwhelms me.

I have been blessed beyond measure.

Not because life has been easy—it certainly has not—but because love has remained. Through every triumph and every tragedy, love has endured.

Even Matt's love remains.

Though I can no longer hear his voice, I feel his presence everywhere. I hear his whispers in the wind. I see reminders of him in unexpected places. I notice signs that feel too personal and too perfectly timed to be mere coincidence. The connection between a mother and her child does not end with death. It simply changes form.

Matt still finds ways to remind me he is near.

And because of those reminders, I continue to heal. I continue to grow. I continue to create the life I want to live. Matt still teaches me to pay attention—to the beauty, the lessons, the opportunities, and the people placed in front of me. His life continues to inspire me to live with purpose, gratitude, and hope.

Maybe that is what aging is really teaching me.

Not to mourn the passing of time, but to treasure it.

To recognize that every day is another opportunity to love deeply, forgive freely, learn something new, and embrace the people who matter most.

Life may be moving faster than I ever imagined, but it is also richer than I ever dreamed.

As another generation prepares to enter our family, I find myself filled with gratitude for every chapter that brought us here.

The joyful chapters.

The heartbreaking chapters.

The chapters that changed me forever.

I am grateful for all of it.

Because every experience, every lesson, every loss, every healing, and every act of love has helped shape the woman I am today.

And today, that feels like more than enough.