Happily Ever After: The Life-Changing Power of a Grateful Heart (16 page)

The final image of him is something my mind will never be able to erase, but the disturbing visual of his frail and unrecognizable body was only a fraction of the reason I was so deeply affected.

Until that summer, I thought accidents happened to other people. My cousin was in the prime of his life. He was a good person with a good heart, and he had taken every precaution he could to stay safe while following his passion. He was happy. He was alive. He was preparing to propose to his longtime girlfriend and start a family of his own. Then, in what felt like the blink of an eye, his life on earth was over, just as mine could be the next day or the day after that.

With Chip’s death, I was closer to mortality than ever before—it was frightening. As a young adult, I could comprehend what it meant to die, but I had a profoundly difficult time dealing with the death of a close relative who should’ve been decades away from it. I tried to stay strong for the ones who had known him best and loved him most, but couldn’t always deny the pain and would literally end up in the fetal position. I cried for my loss, but even more than that, I cried for my grandparents, who thought they would pass on before their grandchildren; my cousin, who didn’t get the chance to say good-bye to her only sibling; and my aunt and uncle, who would never again hug the son they had given life to.

That summer I became even more stifled by caution and fear than I had been for most of my life. I realized more than ever before that, even in moments of assumed safety, the surrounding world was far beyond my control. To this day, it affects my actions as well as my parenting. Even though I try to put the brakes on my fears, they are difficult to overcome when they are buried so deeply into my soul.

Thankfully, though, that devastating summer also taught me a lot.

For one, I realized that no matter how fervently you believe in heaven above, or how strong you appear to those around you, nothing can or should prevent you from expressing your anguish when faced with the end of a beautiful life. It isn’t weakness that shows through during emotional expression, but the raw beauty of humanity.

Another positive effect was the undeniable transformation that took place within our family. Previously disconnected, my mother, her three sisters, and their parents accepted that their vulnerability wasn’t a sign of weakness and opened their hearts in shared grief. Through their struggle, they developed a true bond offering one another a level of unconditional support that they still maintain to this day. Their example showed me that sometimes nature has to rattle your core to help you find your own strength as well as the strength of those who will hold you high above your hurdles.

Lastly, experiencing death made me understand the treasure of life at a very young age. When I was nineteen, my thoughts revolved around college courses and rushing the best sorority, but after losing Chip, I gained the gift of awareness. Today was a gift. My health was a gift. Every breath I took was a gift. I am the first to admit that I still need constant reminders
to slow down and embrace my blessings, often literally, but after losing an angel to heaven too soon, I knew the importance of focusing on the precious gift of the here and now.

Since that devastating day in 1992, there have been many times I’ve randomly felt my cousin’s presence in a room. I know I won’t have a chance to see him in the flesh again, but in those unexplained moments I am overcome with gratitude for just having known him. In the words of Dr. Seuss: “Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened”—and, in remembering the blessing of my cousin, that’s exactly what I do.

T
HE
B
IG
P
ICTURE

On the heels of the heartbreaking ordeals above, I hesitate to share a story that, looking back, seems so incredibly silly. But just as important as life-altering events are to the way we choose to live, so are the trivial stressors we face on a daily basis. Both influence our choices, attitudes, actions, and levels of happiness, even if they seem completely incomparable in terms of significance.

January 24, 2013, was one of those seemingly insignificant days. With a looming deadline, I realized that I needed help with my mommy duties and practically begged my mother-in-law to stay with us for a bit. As the quintessential doting grandparent, she happily agreed and headed to our nest in the mountains for what ended up being twelve days. I know many of you may cringe at the thought of your mother-in-law in your home for almost two weeks, but around here her visits are highly anticipated, for multiple reasons.

First and foremost, Barb is a model mother—very patient, always nurturing, and unconditionally supportive.

Second, she is an exceptional grandmother. Our children absolutely adore her, so much so that I often hear “No, Mommy, I want Grandma to . . .”

Third, she is pretty much the perfect homemaker, and she loves it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a speck of dust in her always white-glove-ready home, a hamper overflowing with dirty clothing, a bed not made, a guest towel out of place, or a full and delicious meal not ready to be devoured when the clock strikes 5:30 p.m. And she treats our home as she does her own, with lots of love and attention.

We feel truly blessed that Ryan’s parents live only a couple hours away, and we reach out for their help when the need arises, which ends up being at least once a month. We love their company, feel thankful that they can usually get away on a moment’s notice, value the bond they are able to consistently create with their first grandbabies, and know our kids are in some of the most dependable and loving hands possible. For the most part, our visits go smoothly, and this one wasn’t any different—that is, until two days before she was due to head home.

That morning, I was awakened in the middle of a dream (or, should I say, nightmare) by my sweet baby girl softly saying, “Mommy,” in my ear. I couldn’t get rid of the horrible image my mind had conjured up of Ryan saying a particularly romantic good-bye to a very tall and very pretty girl. The worst part: he looked right at me and did nothing. No remorse.

I knew it wasn’t real, and Blakesley couldn’t have been sweeter or calmer, but it started my day off on the completely wrong foot.

In an attempt to shift my dark mood, I held my daughter’s tiny hand as we walked downstairs, in hopes that her grasp
would be a conduit for positive energy. Then we headed to the kitchen to get the day started with breakfast and making school lunches.

As I walked down the stairs, I noticed my mother-in-law struggling with something in the sink. I asked what was wrong. She explained that she was trying to get one of the kids’ cups unstuck from under the little black skirt of the disposal.

Still foggy from my face-to-face with Ryan and his new friend back in dreamland, I said something to the effect of, “Huh? How’d that happen?”

I knew it wasn’t something she did on purpose, but after starting off the morning on a bad note, I was frustrated, and the tone of my voice probably conveyed that.

Even more frustrated than me (considering she had been dealing with the annoyance of this stuck cup), she answered, “Well, I don’t know, Trista.”

My frustration immediately started to snowball.

I tried anything and everything I could—including a knife, a saw, a Shop-Vac, and even a Super Glued stick—to get the wedged cup from blocking the sink.

Nothing worked.

With Ryan not returning from an ice-climbing rescue class until the next day, I called some friends to ask for the name of a fair-priced local plumber. I knew my father-in-law would be there later that day, but feeling impatient, I wanted a professional to come in and pull the cup out from under the sink as soon as possible. Having required the help of the pros years ago, I knew it wouldn’t be a cheap visit, which made me even more frustrated. Worse, I felt disrespected—and it killed me.

It wasn’t the feelings I was having that were beating me down. It was the fact that the feelings were directed at a woman
who had such love for our family, and for me, that she had agreed to come to the chaos of my house and offer a kind of support that I couldn’t ask of anyone else.

A woman I consistently feel I don’t measure up to.

A woman so kind and thoughtful that I can’t imagine anyone associating her with anything bad. She was an angel, so by the power of my mind’s deduction, I was the devil, and the day just spiraled from there.

With the kids at school and my mother-in-law visiting with the friends she had made here, I wasted the day crying and thinking about what a sucky human I was.

My father-in-law eventually arrived and expertly freed the cup from the sink. In the end, there was no need for a plumber, or a wasted day, for that matter. A cup had gotten stuck.

Big. Freaking. Deal.

When Ryan got home the next day, he reminded me of the big picture. In a twelve-day period with a three- and five-year-old and a stressed-out writer under deadline, a sink accident was a small price to pay for all the immense help and productivity his mother had allowed. She had dropped everything in her life to offer a generous helping hand, and what was important was that I had a peaceful avenue to attempt to catch up on work without neglecting my kids.

At the end of a day that started so horribly, I learned three great lessons:

       
1.
  
If a sink breaks, you have a broken sink. So what. It’s just a sink.

       
2.
  
Appliances are easily repaired or replaced. Relationships are not, especially those that come from pure love and consistently fill our bank of blessings.

       
3.
  
I need to take a page out of my own book and remember to focus on gratitude, especially in stressful times.

To stay connected to our family living thousands of miles from each other, my mom set up a Facebook group just for us. It includes my half sister, my aunts, and my cousins and is a way for all of us to tune in to some of the most important people of our lives. If you’re feeling particularly detached from your loved ones, try doing the same and start the ball of reconnection rolling.

It can be immensely difficult to share your true emotions with the people you love, but after being faced with the fact that life is fleeting, I can say that it’s worth every uncomfortable moment. Start with the people you struggle with the most. Maybe it’s a parent, grandparent, or sibling. Before you finish your next conversation with that person, try out these three simple words: “I love you.” If that seems like too much to take on, maybe start signing your e-mails “Love,” and then gradually work into “love ya” then “I love you.” If you are worried about rejection or nonreciprocation, just think about the fact that you may not have the same chance tomorrow, and go for it. Nothing is stronger or more powerfully binding than a pure statement of love.