All this chatter about Brittany Maynard makes me sad. Not just for her–although I have found myself praying for her so often since hearing her story–but for everyone in the conversation. So many hurting hearts. So many dealing with tough, tough choices.

But what makes me so sad about this talk of “death with dignity” is that it assumes that cancer is taking your choices away and there is a way to wrestle control back from it and be in charge of “the end” yourself. I can see where you would see that when facing a prolonged illness. But what I can also see from here…this place of being left behind…this place of having life ripped away…this place of no warning and no choices and no control…is that sometimes there are no last moments.

And my heart cries that you should choose to grab hold of every last one you’re given with both hands and not willingly give up a single breath. Not one. Not if you get to choose. But that’s what I see from here…with no choice.

There is no choice. There is no control. You don’t avoid the indignity of death by dying.

Here, in this place, 8 years later I can admit that it took me years to be willing to admit that I would not want to change it all back. Because life is too big for me to grasp. Too big for me to wrap my arms, my mind, my heart around. So big that I just have to accept that I don’t know best.

If the accident had never happened, would we have our Speedracer today? I don’t know.

If the accident had never happened, would we have found our way to our church, and eventually back to the Lord? I don’t know.

If the accident had never happened, would the farm have grown this way? I don’t know.

If the accident had never happened, would we even still live here? I don’t know.

And I don’t know if a yes or a no would be the better answer.

The growing part of grieving and growing is finally accepting that I can stop trying to understand and just give it to the Lord and move on. All we can do is move forward.

You never get over grief, you just learn to keep breathing. You never get over grief, because you never get over loving. I saw this beautiful quote on Pinterest…Grief is love with no place to go.

 

Sometimes acceptance doesn’t look like people expect it too. Sometimes it still looks like tears. Like anger. Like not wanting to get out of bed and face another day. Sometimes it still looks like curling up in a ball and wishing the whole world away. Sometimes acceptance is knowing that life is beautiful even when it’s the most painful. Accepting that there is a purpose in suffering. In grief. And that you don’t have to know what it is. You can ask why, why, why, but the answer is that you simply don’t need to know.

I don’t need to know why the accident happen–I still have to live with it every day.

I don’t need to know why I have to face being a motherless mother–I just have to do it.

I don’t need to know why my children must grow up without grandparents–they just do.

That’s the difference between living with the Lord and living in your own power. Truly, my heart breaks most for those who walk through their struggles alone, who don’t understand that it’s a refining fire. Sending prayers today…