Strength
The word strength is used in a variety of ways. It is used to determine how much weight one can lift, or how much weight an object or material can bear. If we are building a home, we would choose materials with the strength to withstand severe weather and storms. When buying a truck, we probably would choose the ones with the strength to tow a boat, or carry heavy loads. When we use the word strength to define a person, what exactly do we mean? Typically, we don’t know the depth of our strength, real or perceived, until we face unimaginable situations. It is so easy for us to say, “If it were me, I would ….,” but would you? Do we know our own strength?
We hear stories on the news about mothers who lift cars and tractors to free their children. We watch as our neighbors struggle with crutches or wheelchairs, give themselves insulin injections, and care for sick and elderly parents. We see our parents kiss their life mate goodbye for the last time. Many of them did not know they had the strength to do it.
How about parents who have premature babies? They have to watch as others care for the infant. The inability to bring the baby home and begin their lives with all members of the family under one roof is painful. Did these parents know in advance they would have the strength to leave the baby? To trust the nurses and doctors to administer the care and love they would at home?
There are also the parents who have to watch their children endure surgeries. Parents who have to watch as their kids receive chemotherapy, transfusions, and painful injections. Grievously, there are parents who get the phone call informing them of a traumatic event. There are parents who care for terminally ill children, only to be forced to make funeral arrangements after their final minutes together.
It has been said that the loss of a child is the most devastating, heart wrenching, emotional experience one will ever endure. If we knew in advance how our lives would play out, would we shop for parental partners the way we shop for homes and cars? Would we be able to determine those who have the strength to weather bad storms, tow heavy loads and carry extreme weight? Probably not. Those strengths are sometimes developed, sometimes learned, but rarely visible to the bare eye.
People are told they are strong after a tragic loss. What makes them strong? Is it strength or survival? For me, I’m not sure. I certainly don’t see myself as strong. I see myself as a parent first. I had two other children who needed me. One lost his twin, the other lost her big sister. Both were devastated. If I collapsed and stopped functioning, would I be telling them that my loss is greater than theirs? Would my actions be implying that Anna was more important, more worthy of my time than either of them? What would that mean for my husband? Would I be telling him, through my actions, or inactions, that my grief was more substantial than his? For me, that wasn’t, isn’t strength, It is life. It is getting out of bed each morning and functioning. Perhaps I wasn’t functioning well, but I had to care for the ones who were present.
Life after a loss changes you in immeasurable ways. All of us. We are not strong. We did not know this was coming. There was no advanced warning, no predictors. The ability to shop for materials, take a test drive, or experiment with the amount of weight we could bear, didn’t exist. We are just regular people, trudging through life.
Strength. It isn’t the amount you can lift. It isn’t the weight an object can bear. It isn’t the ability to withstand storms. Strength is having the aptitude to see what is present. Strength is putting one foot in front of the other everyday. It is appreciating what you had, embracing what you have and looking forward to what will be. Strength comes and goes daily. Strength shows itself in a variety of ways, and is demonstrated differently by different people. Strength is something we rarely see in ourselves, but admire in others.
Strength: operating, not by knowing the outcome, but by doing the best you can.