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Striving through the hard days

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Often in life we find ourselves looking at the calendar and it fills us with emotions of an occurrence on that date somewhere in our past.
On some occasions it is a good memory or emotion. My grandmother’s birthday still sticks in my head for some reason although to the best of my memory, we never celebrated it, nor do I recall ever being with her on that day but each day when it rolls around, I think of her despite her passing being long ago.
The end of August for me marks the passing of my father and the end of May that of my mother’s. No matter how many years have flown by, when I hit those days, the memories still come back. Thankfully, my folks taught me the importance of grieving through the experience at the time and moving on when the process is complete.
I remember my mother saying to me just hours before she crossed “I put everything that was and is in your good hands, my time is done, yours continues. Live.”
Holidays are hard, sometimes due to missing loved ones, sometimes due to lingering memories of what once was or what might have been. I know for me I often found the end of relationships at specific holidays which soured those annual festivities for me. Each year I have to work my way through the days anew.
I work to bring the spirit of the holiday into my life by finding and helping others, thus taking me outside my own head and not letting the past crush the present.
I wish I could say there is a magic pill to take or an easy course to take that will make everything all better for each of us. We all grieve differently. We all move through transitions in different ways. The best approach I have learned is just do it.
Get up. Get out. Find your new normal, add in your bliss, help some other folks along the way and eventually, you look at the calendar a day or two after one of these heavy-laden anniversaries and realize that the day went by and the day’s once significance, didn’t even cross your mind.

A leaf  of strength

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The leaf swayed hanging on to the lonely limb tightly.  As if, to say to the world “I am not done and you are not going to make me fall down no matter what you throw at me.” All of its fellow leaves had given up the ghost blowing in whatever direction the wind desired them to go. Some managed to find a resting place at the foot of the majestic oak tree to spend the winter becoming the woodland blanket upon which the rain would fall before soaking into the ground.
My Grandad sat quietly on the porch staring at the leave bobbing in the wind.
He had come back from a tremendous stroke that took the wind from his earthly sails. The man who seemed would not bend to nothing could now barely lift himself from the chair in which he sat.
On this fall day though spying that lone leaf seemed to fortify him more than anything that anyone had to bolster his spirits. He stared endlessly watching its fight and as the fight struggled on from one day to two, to a week, his personal strength seemed to grow.
He managed each day no matter how the wind blew or what elements forced themselves past the mountain homestead, he walked himself out to the porch to spend some time sitting, later leaning against the porch post, and then standing as upright as the years would allow. He was always looking off towards the oak tree and its one hold out to the whims of the world saying nothing that revealed the focus of his internal thoughts.
As the winter came on strong, he would rise up and with his cane in hand, he eventually walked off the porch and towards that mighty oak tree going as far as he felt comfortable then returning to the porch. With each trip he got closer to his goal and he soon reached the tree looking straight up towards the hanging leaf.
There were a few times he would take one hand lean against the trunk of the tree and with the other lift his cane as far as he could trying to hit the leaf that centered his focus. He was just shy of reaching it and he would eventually tire and return to the warmth of the fireplace inside.
The light covering of snow did not even dissuade him to making his trek to the oak and returning home and with each passing day he grew stronger.
By the first signs of spring, he no longer limited his walking to just the tree and he was taken on even more of the activities that made his day sing around the farm.
It was on a spring day that the tree had refilled all its limbs and the greenery made it full and majestic. Grandad could no longer see the lone leaf from the porch so he decided to make another trek to see what had become of his now old companion who he fought alongside against the world’s elements.
As he reached the tree, he looked upon the ground to find it to no avail so he turned his gaze upward and amongst the lush green leaves there it was – one brown leaf still holding on to its place amidst the green youngsters around it.
Grandad’s face seemed to change as his face fought back the effects of the stroke moved to show a smile.
He raised his cane, almost in a sense of a salute to the lone leaf, then turned and walked down the trail towards the valley store. Emboldened by the lone leaf, he was figuring to hold on to his place in the world and stand as the man he was inside, no matter what nature threw against him.
We need more people in this world who work to overcome what they face finding the inner strength that God placed within each of His creations.