Reinforce this at every opportunity: “You matter.”
Kids respond to this message deeply, whether it comes from a positive source (parents/teacher/coach) or people who are only trying to exploit them.
Hand out tulip bulbs (or some sort of bulbs) at my funeral and ask people to plant a few in their yard. But NOT daffodils. I hate daffodils. And lilies, hate ‘em.) So tulips then.
I promise I will never snoop. No matter how curious I am, I will not violate your privacy. But if I ever think you may be in danger I will break any promise and any law I have to in order to keep you safe.
Some kids have trouble with learning how to managing their anger and other big feelings. We all do! It’s good to give them grace. But steer clear of those who think mean is cool. You don’t have time for anyone who actually tries to be an a-hole.
Someone else’s success doesn’t subtract from yours. Celebrating with them and encouraging them won’t make you the loser and them the winner. We’re all in this together.
A lesson from author Tom Zumba. I hope you’ll never need it:
“There is nothing
nothing
easy about this thing called grief.
Nothing.
But I ask you to please
please
please
say yes
more often than you say no.
Say yes to you.
To possibility.
To hope.
To love.
To life.
To healing.
Please choose the light
more often than you choose the darkness.
Not that there aren't gifts in the darkness.
There are.
But it's often so much easier to find them
the gifts
in the light.
Do all you can to stay in the light.
Please remember that the person you love
so
so
so dearly
lived.
Don't forget that.
He lived.
She lived.
Here with you.
And your relationship continues.
Always.
Don't be so overwhelmed
and paralyzed
and pissed off
that he died
that she died
that you spend most of your time
focusing on their death.
Focus on your life.
Together.
Say yes as often as you can.
Choose light as often as you can.
Remember that he lived as often as you can.
Don't lose her in the details of her death.
This thing called grief is hard
hard
hard work.
But you are stronger than you think.
His book is called Permission to Mourn
You can’t grow in faith (or character or friendships) without learning to be humble. To forgive. To listen without agenda. To allow for the possibility you may be in the wrong.
Ask for help. God will give it.
Once or twice a year my parents would clean all the walls and baseboards in the house. Every time I smell Murphy’s Oil Soap I think of that. They mostly separated work around traditional gender roles but only insofar as that’s what they liked. Mom had no desire to work in the yard, Dad didn’t like to cook (until he got a bread machine for his retirement!) They often worked together on big tasks no matter inside or outside. Teamwork! And clean walls.
I don’t remember much about my grandmother (Marie) but I recall her hands. Her ring fingers had a funny curve to them, bowed in a little at the top.
My ring fingers do the same thing. I think of her every time I notice it.