The days are consistently inconsistent. At least I have that to count on. Loss shakes up all stability. I find myself clutching to the hope that at some point I will find a routine again.
It is notable how my ordinary days before seemed completely habitual to the point of monotonous. My best friend reminded me back then that a mom must learn many times over the lesson to “die to self”. I didn’t like that lesson all that much.
Now, with all routines turned upside down as far from normal as we can get, I wish with every inch of me that I could take back just one of those everyday, usual, nothing-out-of-the-ordinary sort of days. For now I know that not all “eventful” days are filled with good news. And with my wish I would like to try again to die to myself and think for a moment of others. This doesn’t mean I would become a doormat. I don’t believe in self harm. Rather, I would give up what is holding me back…a grudge, a jealousy, a lie, a piece of pride. I would “live less selfishly and love more blindly” as a good friend of mine wrote to me so beautifully after Shawn died.
I would see the value in the under-rated normalcy of a regular day. And at the top of my list would be an appreciation for consistency. Consistency keeps one steady. Inconsistency adds to the tension of conflict. I can rely on the constant, I grow leery of the unpredictability that tremendous change brings. Even though change can transform, I am hesitant with my trust.
